


Summer Story

by Arnel



Series: Gifts [3]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-21
Updated: 2019-09-21
Packaged: 2020-10-25 10:03:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 21,110
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20722409
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arnel/pseuds/Arnel
Summary: Summer at the Dursleys’ is typical for Harry Potter who hopes his stay with his relatives will only last two weeks at most. In this sequel toYou’re Still YouandNew Year, New Hope, Harry learns that his role as “savior” of the Wizarding world is more complicated than he thought and that he needs his friends and mentors more than he ever imagined.





	1. London

Harry heaved a sigh of relief as Ron took the trolley holding Hedwig’s empty cage and his trunk from him and led the way through the barrier. Just pushing the awkward thing a few meters had sapped his strength a lot more than he’d bargained for. Throwing his weight at the handle had caused him to bang his newly-healed left arm and ribs painfully against it.

_So much for staying pain-free for the day, _ he grumbled to himself as he followed Ron.

“Thanks, Ron,” he said gratefully as they emerged from the barrier onto the platform at King’s Cross and began looking for the Dursleys. “I’m still amazed at the things that can beat me right now.”

“’s nothing, mate,” Ron said. “Promise me you’ll let us know when you’re settled?”

Harry grinned at his friend, then shaking his head he said, “Like sister, like brother. I’ve promised to owl Ginny. She wants to know when I’m ‘safe’.”

“Good for her,” Ron said, scanning the people nearby. “Do you see them?”

“Over there,” Harry said, inclining his head to the left.

Harry’s relatives stood a little way down the platform towards the entrance to the station. Ron pushed the trolley in their direction and soon stood in front of Uncle Vernon. Harry followed at a slower pace.

“Well, it’s about time,” Uncle Vernon groused. “You’re lucky we’ve waited for you.”

“Hello, Uncle Vernon. Nice to see you, too,” Harry said.

His uncle blustered, “Now don’t get cheeky with me, boy. I won’t have you mouthing off to me every ten seconds.” When Harry didn’t answer right away he demanded, “What’s that sling for? Some sort of prank to get me to let you off doing chores?”

Ron looked uncomfortable as Harry answered quietly, “I’ve had surgery on my shoulder.”

Aunt Petunia took the opportunity to speak up. “We’ll discuss this in the car.” Her sharp eyes descended on Ron. “Well, oughtn’t you be going? We’re leaving.”

Ron’s ears turned red as he straightened up and stepped close to the Dursleys. “I think,” he said slowly, “that you want to show Harry a little respect. He nearly died trying to protect people when our school got attacked this year. He’s been through the wringer, and he’s going to spend the summer resting.”

Uncle Vernon’s piggy eyes narrowed and his complexion grew horribly mottled as Ron spoke. “Now see here,” he spat. “I’m not having you weirdoes telling me what I can and cannot do in my own house. That boy has been a burden to us since the moment he arrived, and he’s bloody well going to earn his ke…”

Ron bumped up against Uncle Vernon, towering over him, and discreetly pulled his wand from his pocket, pointing it menacingly at the big man’s stomach. “I’d be a bit more polite, if I were you,” he said in a flat, emotionless tone. “Harry has a lot of friends from school, and we’re going to be keeping a close watch to make sure he’s okay this summer, just like we did last year. It’d be such a pity if there was a… misunderstanding.”

Aunt Petunia’s mouth opened and closed repeatedly, but no sound came out. Vernon looked as though he’d like nothing better than to bum rush Ron but seemed to think the better of it. Dudley was oddly quiet as the conflict played out before him.

Ron turned back to Harry and extended his hand. “Take care, Harry. And make sure to send Hedwig right away. Ginny will be waiting for her.” 

“I will,” Harry promised. He turned, jerked his head first at Dudley, then at the trolley and walked passed Uncle Vernon towards the entrance. Halfway there he turned to see whether Dudley was actually pushing the trolley and saw Ron still standing where they’d left him. The two exchanged one last, melancholy little wave and then Ron walked back through the barrier. Sighing desolately, Harry led the way out onto the street.

The car ride back to Privet Drive seemed endless as Uncle Vernon’s newest company car wove its way along the carriage way toward Little Whinging. Harry had given the letter Madam Pomfrey had written about his injuries and subsequent “surgery” to Aunt Petunia and she was now muttering her way through it. 

“No strenuous pushing or pulling for six weeks... tasks to be done with his right hand only... lots of bed rest!... she even has a list of foods he’s supposed to eat... keep his strength up... What does she think I am... a maidservant? I should think not!” She turned in her seat and skewered Harry with her eyes. “And just how long are you going to be a good-for-nothing lay-about in my house? Hmmm?”

Harry glared icily back at her. “Two weeks at the most,” he said. “But most likely only one.”

“TWO WEEKS! You’re just like your lazy, no-good father! I will not wait on you hand and foot for two weeks! Do you hear me?”

“You’d wait on Dudley,” Harry mumbled under his breath, resentment at her characterization of his father making his stomach turn. “And my father wasn’t lazy.”

Apparently Aunt Petunia had heard him for she said icily, “As far as I’m concerned he was! No steady job, just a no-good wastrel... You may have your arm in a sling, but you will still help with the chores. Have I made myself clear?” 

“Yes, Aunt Petunia,” he agreed, just to satisfy his aunt. He closed his eyes and leaned his head against the back of his seat. He hated feeling this weak, but the train ride back to London had exhausted him and all he really wanted to do at the moment was sleep. His aunt, on the other hand, had other ideas.

“Now tell me just who will be coming for you and when,” she demanded.

“Professor Dumbledore told me he will be coming himself,” Harry said without opening his eyes. “He’ll send an ow–write to me a day or two before he comes with the exact time he’ll appear on your doorstep.”

“Well, he’d better not come through the fireplace again,” Uncle Vernon said vehemently, taking the exit that led to Little Whinging. “And he’d better not bring any more of those elf-whatsits like he did last summer. It let in all sorts of vermin that took us six months to get rid of!”

Harry shook his head, remembering Dumbledore’s visit last August when he’d learned the terms of Sirius’ will. That information, coupled with Kreacher’s appearance, had been more than he’d wanted to handle; he hoped there would be no surprises like that this time around.

When Harry didn’t answer right away his uncle demanded, “Well, will it be contaminating my house again?”

“I don’t know,” Harry said. “I was told just to expect a letter detailing his arrival time. I’m supposed to be packed and ready to go as I’ll not be coming back ever again. That’s all I know.”

His aunt and uncle both sighed loudly, but neither made further comment as the car pulled into the drive of four Privet Drive.

Instead, Aunt Petunia got out and pointed at the front door as Uncle Vernon opened the boot. “Get your things and get them upstairs. I expect you have laundry to do, so clear out that trunk of yours and get the machine going. I’ll not have you waking us at all hours because you’re running the washer yourself when you can’t sleep.” She disappeared down the garden path, following Uncle Vernon and Dudley and leaving Harry standing next to the boot, a look of dismay on his face. There was no way he could lift the heavy trunk with only one arm without using magic.

A hand suddenly pushed him roughly aside and heaved the trunk out of the boot. “Mum made me come back to help you,” Dudley grumbled by way of explanation. “She doesn’t want you standing out here all night. The neighbours will talk.” He grasped the side handles and started for the door. “Get that cage and shut the boot. You’re not that helpless,” he called over his shoulder at Harry.

Harry did what he was told and followed Dudley up to his room. Dudley placed Harry’s trunk at the foot of the bed as he entered. “Thanks,” Harry murmured, walking wearily to his bed and collapsing on it. He closed his eyes and struggled to get comfortable on the thin mattress, involuntarily hissing with pain when he bumped his left arm against his bedside table.

Harry breathed out slowly as the pain receded. He relaxed and felt sleep beginning to claim him when the creak of a floorboard caused him to open his eyes. Dudley was standing near the door, staring at his cousin with an unfathomable expression. 

After a moment of uncomfortable silence, Harry spoke. “Thanks for bringing my trunk up,” he said tiredly.

“So what happened to you?” Dudley asked, ignoring Harry’s thanks. “You look like you’ve been in some kind of brawl, from what your friend said.” Harry started, wondering about Dudley’s tone. _Was it curiosity? Admiration? A hint of concern? _

Harry slowly sat up on the bed. “Yeah, I was,” he replied.

“Tell me about it. I want to hear everything,” Dudley said eagerly, scooting back against the wall.

Harry eyed his cousin warily, trying to decipher his motives. _Dudley’s never shown interest in anything I’ve ever done in the Wizarding world. I’ve always been a target for his bullying, a convenient punching bag... Maybe that’s it... Perhaps he thinks the battle was just a simple brawl instead of the life and death struggle it really was! If he’s trying to understand me I suppose I should at least try to explain what happened... but I really don’t want to. _

Knowing Dudley wouldn’t leave until he got what he wanted — and none too keen at the prospect of being his cousin’s punching bag — Harry resignedly gave him an abbreviated accounting of the battle for Hogsmeade. Dudley listened raptly, sometimes demanding more detail than Harry was comfortable offering; this finally caused him to get up and pace the room. The bigger boy sat back, stunned, as Harry finished the story.

“I never knew you people fought with those... things,” Dudley said, pointing at the wand sticking out of Harry’s pocket. “That’s really cool!”

Harry stared at Dudley, unsure how to take this sudden interest his cousin had in his life. “I suppose it is,” he said slowly. “But casting spells with a wand is no different than maiming or killing someone with a gun. People get hurt either way.”

Dudley appeared taken aback by those words. “Yeah, I guess so…” he replied in a rather unconvincing tone. Harry squirmed inwardly, suspecting that Dudley was enthralled with wands in the same way he’d been thrilled with the air rifle he once used to shoot squirrels. He saw the wands as toys and didn’t really grasp the consequences of their misuse.

Harry rubbed his sore shoulder and glanced at the clock on his bedside table. He needed to take one of the pain potions Madam Pomfrey had sent with him. He fumbled in his pocket for his key, walked over to the trunk and unlocked it. He shoved aside some laundry and pulled out a small vial of pain potion, which he struggled to uncork. Dudley suddenly grew impatient with Harry’s fumbling.

“Oh for crying out loud, give it here,” he said, snatching the vial from Harry’s hands and uncorking it before handing it back. “I don’t see how all of your people can regard you as such a bloody hero if you’re going to let a little thing like shoulder pain you down.” 

Irritation welled up inside Harry, but he shoved it aside. “Thanks,” he said stiffly before downing the potion. A blissful numbness enveloped Harry’s shoulder, and suddenly Dudley’s barb didn’t matter.

Dudley studied his cousin for a moment. “That stuff works quick, huh?” he asked. Harry nodded, a slight smile gracing his lips as he moved back to the bed. “I sure could use some stuff like that after a few rounds in the ring at Smeltings,” Dudley said.

Harry eased back onto the bed and lay down. He and Dudley gazed at each other for a moment. “So,” Dudley said. “Let’s see this scar you’ve picked up.”

Harry blinked dazedly. Was this just a side-effect of the potion? This was the weirdest experience he’d ever had on Privet Drive.

“Why?” he asked.

“I dunno,” Dudley replied. “Might be something to see a real wizarding combat scar.”

“No.”

“Why not?” Dudley replied, sounding irked.

“I have to take my sling off and I can’t move my arm very well.”

“Oi, don’t be such a baby. I’ll help you,” Dudley said, coming to stand in front of Harry.

“I’m just not in the mood Big D,” Harry shot back.

For an instant, anger flared in Dudley’s eyes. Then he suddenly began to unbutton his shirt. “Want to see my scar?” he asked tossing off his long-sleeve shirt without waiting for a reply. Harry was surprised to see that Dudley had trimmed up a bit and grown more muscular over the past year.

Dudley then rolled up the sleeve of his undershirt to reveal a nasty looking ridge of puckered pink flesh running from his upper right arm to his shoulder. “Got it sparring in the ring one day,” he said as though showing off a trophy. “Took a right hook that knocked me into one of the ring posts. The padding had slipped and a bolt head was sticking out. Took seven stitches to get it closed up.” 

Dudley rolled his eyes. “I thought Mum would faint when she saw it after I got home.” Putting his shirt back on, he turned to face Harry. “So c’mon, let’s see it… Unless this is just some gimmick you’ve cooked up to fool Mum and Dad.”

There was no way Harry could let that challenge go. Slowly, stiffly he sat up and began removing his shirt, but couldn’t move his bad arm properly to get it off. Dudley heaved a loud sigh, walked over and gently helped him. The shirt came off, and Dudley stared at the ropey pink scar that ran across Harry’s left shoulder and halfway down his bicep.

“Wicked,” Dudley said in an awe-struck voice. Once again, Harry felt irritated at being treated like an object in a museum. He certainly hadn’t asked for any of the events that led up getting the scar.

“So,” Dudley said as Harry began to get dressed. “This, uh, Whatshername from your school. Does she want you to do rehabilitation exercises like the coaches do at Smeltings?”

Harry felt the pain potion kick in a bit more and couldn’t resist cracking a grin. “Yeah, she does.”

“So what’s she want you to do?” Dudley said.

Harry wandered back over to his trunk, buttoning his shirt as he went. “I’ve got an instruction sheet to remind me what I’m supposed to do every morning.” He rummaged in his trunk for the bag containing the post and handed the instruction sheet to Dudley. As Dudley scanned it Harry removed the set of rubber bands and the post and looked around for a suitable place to adhere it to the floor. As the post automatically enlarged, Harry selected the right spot and anchored it in place. 

“These look right,” Dudley said, handing the paper back. “She knows what she’s doing for you.”

“How do you know?” Harry asked curiously.

“My dorm mate dislocated his shoulder skiing over the Christmas hols and had to do nearly the same exercises as these until the end of term. I sort of became his unofficial trainer,” Dudley explained. 

After a moment of silence Dudley coughed and then shot a tough look at Harry.   
“If you want, I can get you whipped back into shape,” he said.

Harry tucked in his shirt as best he could and stared at his cousin. He really wants to help, he marvelled. _I’ll believe it when I see it. _ To Dudley he remarked, “I dunno. Won’t your parents think it strange if you help me?”

Dudley smirked conspiratorially. “I won’t tell if you won’t,” he said. Harry hesitated, and Dudley smirked again. “Better think it over, Potter. You look like you can use all the help you can get, especially if you’re going to do any more… what is it, duelling?”

Sensing that Harry was still nervous about Vernon and Petunia’s reactions, Dudley’s face softened just a bit. “Look, as long as we wait until Dad leaves, Mum won’t bother us until she’s ready for breakfast. Also, if you’re not too sore you should do the exercises before bed, too. You’ll build up your strength faster.”

Harry fitted the sling over his elbow and managed to pass the strap over his good shoulder, but had trouble threading the end through the loops of the buckle one-handed. He looked up as Dudley took the end from him saying, “Let me do this; Robert always needed help with this part.”

“Thanks, Dudley,” Harry said tiredly when his cousin finished. He lay down on his bed as Uncle Vernon’s voice rattled the windows from downstairs.

“Boy! Get down here and help with dinner!”

_I don’t want to, _ Harry thought, although knew that making the effort to go downstairs would keep peace in the family. He pushed himself upright as Hedwig flew into the room. She squawked loudly when she saw Dudley and quickly landed on top of her cage. Dudley backed up towards the door, more to give her flying room than anything else.

“It’s all right, Hedwig,” Harry murmured softly to his owl. “Dudley and I have been talking, is all. No harm done. Could you take a note to Ginny, please?”

Hedwig bobbed her head and waited for Harry to write his note as the summons from downstairs was repeated, this time in angrier tones.

Dudley glanced over his shoulder into the hallway. “I’ll be back,” he said and disappeared down the stairs. A moment later, Harry heard loud voices from downstairs.

“Dad, I don’t think he’s going to be up to this tonight,” Dudley was saying.

“What on earth are you talking about? That freak can at least come downstairs and set the table.”

Dudley said something Harry couldn’t hear, and then added in a louder voice, “He’s hurt his shoulder badly, just like Robert did over Christmas. You push him too hard and it’ll undo what the surgeons fixed and he’ll never use his arm again. You want him to get well and leave, you’d better let him rest. I’m serious, Dad.”

“I don’t know what Potter’s done to you to make you defend him like this, but I’ll have none of it! You go up there and drag his sorry hide down here before I do it for him!”

“Knock it off, Dad!”

Aunt Petunia sounded angry as she said, “Dudley, do as you’re told and go get your cousin. Your father and I will decide what happens around here.”

Harry finished his message and attached it to Hedwig’s leg as Dudley came stomping loudly up the stairs. As she took off, he met Dudley at the door.

Dudley merely shrugged his shoulders and grunted. “I tried,” he said before ambling down the hall to his room.

“Thanks,” Harry said to his retreating back. “I’d better go down before Uncle Vernon comes up.”

Harry slowly descended the steps. _I can’t wait to get out of here! _ he thought, entering the kitchen. He glanced at his uncle and nearly said something defiant he would surely regret later. 

“Set the table. You look fit enough to do that,” Aunt Petunia snapped from where she stood at the counter tossing a salad. “You’re part of this family.”

_Yeah, right_. Harry thought, glancing at his sling. Silently, he gathered the plates and cutlery Aunt Petunia had lain out on the counter and began setting the table.


	2. Coming Home

Ginny and Ron entered the Burrow through the Floo. It seemed abrupt to Ginny that her parents had hurried off to an Order meeting rather than spending more time with their two youngest children on their first day home from school. But she understood the importance of everything Dumbledore was trying to do, and she and Ron were certainly old enough to take care of themselves for the duration. 

“Good to be back,” Ron said, gazing around the living room as he lifted his broom from his trunk. “Do you want me to take your broom–” He stopped when he saw the look on her face. “Sorry, Ginny. I wasn’t thinking.”

Ginny smiled sadly, “That’s all right. I know you meant well. I need to get my trunk upstairs.” She drew her wand, pointed it at her trunk and started for the stairs.

Ron shut his trunk. “Ginny, wait,” he called after her. “Let me do it. My broom can wait.” With a huge grin, he began levitating the trunk up the stairs, leaving her in the empty kitchen. Ginny giggled as he commented, “I love being seventeen!”

Unpacking took very little time, and Ginny soon found herself sitting on her bed with nothing to occupy her. Mentally, she ticked off the items on her to-do list: Floo home, unpack, start laundry, wait for Hedwig. The first three had been accomplished easily enough; the hard part was waiting for Harry’s owl. She was worried that the Dursleys would not pay attention to Madam Pomfrey’s letter and require Harry to do chores that would harm him. 

A flurry of wings caught her attention, and Ginny looked up as Pig zoomed in through her open window. He circled overhead once, then flew in tight circles in front of her door as if trying to tell her he wanted out. He had a small blue envelope she recognized as Hermione’s favourite stationery attached to his leg. Smiling, Ginny rose and walked to the door. “Was my window the only way in, Pigwidgeon?” she asked the little owl as she let him out. “Go on, then. Ron will be waiting for Hermione’s letter.”

On a whim, Ginny followed Pig up the stairs to Ron’s room. The lid to Ron’s trunk was open and the floor was littered with a year’s worth of belongings waiting to be stored away. Ron sat on his bed reading Hermione’s letter, completely oblivious to Pig choking on an owl treat. He looked up as Ginny strode over to Pig’s cage and unstuck his beak.

“What’s up?”

“Hermione get home all right?”

“Yeah. She’s going with her parents to Ireland for a week’s holiday starting tomorrow. She says they are going to try to get tickets to a Balleycastle Bats match while they’re there. She thinks her dad will like our sport. She’s found a spell she can cast on her parents that will cancel the effects of the Muggle-Repelling spells on the stadium. I hope it works for her sake.”

“Me, too. I’d love to see another match,” Ginny mused wistfully, brushing Ron’s dirty laundry off his desk chair and sitting down. “Maybe some day...”

“Yeah.”

“Hedwig hasn’t come yet.”

“She will. It might take a little longer for them to drive home than it did us to Floo.”

“I’ll wait until dark before I start worrying,” Ginny decided aloud. 

Ron stood up. “Let’s go for a walk,” he suggested, folding his letter and stashing it in his bedside cabinet. “I could use one after sitting so long on the train.”

“Let me grab my walking stick,” she replied.

They set out through the back garden and headed toward the pond. As they neared the water, Ginny commented, “You and Hermione are getting along quite well these days.”

Ron grinned. “I know we’re not bickering as much as we were, if that’s what you mean.”

Ginny giggled. “True. She also seems to have glued herself to you, at least while we were on the train.”

“It was really hard to say good bye. I didn’t want her to leave,” Ron admitted sheepishly. “I wish I’d had the courage to tell her sooner. We could have had loads of time together!”

“Yeah, but you’re so chicken-hearted about sharing your feelings, you wouldn’t have told Hermione if we hadn’t had that little talk yesterday morning. You two would still be dancing around each other, avoiding your mutual attraction and annoying the rest of us with your stubbornness,” she said. A smile graced her lips as she added, “At least this way everyone went home with the knowledge that next term will be a bit more peaceful in the common room!”

“Ginny! We were never that bad!” Ron protested. He stopped walking, looking worried. 

Ginny rolled her eyes. “Keep telling yourself that,” she teased. “But I think some other couple will now have the chance to take your place as the most annoying couple in the common room.” She didn’t wait for his response, but took off at a slow jog, glorying in the thought that she could run away from Ron even if he’d catch her in two or three strides.

Ron grabbed her round the middle and swung her in a circle like he used to do when they were little.

“Put me down!” she demanded, laughing. 

“Only if you take that back!”

“Never!” she squealed.

He spun them again, slipped on the grass and they tumbled towards the pond in a happy, tangled heap. Ginny was the first to stand and offered her hand. “That was fun!” she exclaimed, pulling Ron to his feet.

He grinned at her. “Yeah. Are you all right?”

Ginny picked up her walking stick and set off around the pond. “I’m fine, Ron. Really.” She paused and glanced up shyly at her brother. “You haven’t done that since before we went to Hogwarts. You make a good cushion.”

“And a good pillow, according to Hermione,” Ron replied, a faraway look flitting across his face.

Ginny giggled at the thought. “Harry thinks my lap makes a pretty good pillow, too,” she said. 

Ron made a gagging noise. “Spare me the gory details, please,” he groaned.

They walked in silence for a while, Ron sometimes stooping to pick up stones, which he skipped across the pond. Ginny walked out onto the dock when they reached it and sat down to dangle her feet in the water. Ron sat next to her. His shadow caused the minnows in the pond to flee to deeper water. Ginny was sad to see them go; her good mood slipped away, too.

Finally, she asked pensively, “Is it just me or is Harry trying to distance himself from me?”

Ron raised an eyebrow. “What gave you that idea?”

“A lot of things, actually,” she said, gazing out over the water, “but mostly how he’s been acting lately. You know, sort of cagey about his meetings with Professor Dumbledore. Just this morning he told me he wasn’t going to wear his phoenix very often this summer.” She looked at Ron expectantly. “I know something is up, Ron, and I don’t like being kept in the dark.”

Ron glanced away, looking uncomfortable. “Harry’s just found out the extent of his responsibilities in this war, Ginny,” he said gravely. “They’re dangerous to him and anyone who knows what they are. The fewer people who know the better. He only told Hermione and me because Dumbledore insisted he have someone to discuss things with.” 

Ginny twisted around to look at him. “Why can’t I be privy to everything you can?” she demanded stubbornly, hating the way her eyes were beginning to tear up. This conversation was making her feel as if she was eleven years old again; left out because she was the youngest and not considered old enough to participate in everything her brothers could.

Ron closed his eyes and exhaled heavily. “I really wish we could tell you everything!” he exclaimed. “It would make things so much easier!”

“Then why don’t you just up and tell me?” she demanded, getting up.

“I can’t...” Ron said with a frustrated growl. “Because Dumbledore and Harry made us promise... No, that’s not right. Harry has this notion that you need to be protected! That’s what!” 

“I don’t need protecting, Ron! I’m perfectly capable of defending myself! No matter what Harry thinks!” she spat.

Ron scrambled to his feet. “Listen to me,” he demanded as she turned her back to him. “Harry loves you! So much more than he’s ever let on! He’s afraid that if you knew his secrets the Death Eaters and V-Voldemort would use you as a pawn to get to him.” He grabbed her by the elbows and spun her round, forcing her to look at him. “Ginny, Harry told me the other night that if anything ever happened to you again he would go crazy. He’s terrified that the Death Eaters will capture you... he wants you to be safe... he wants you to be there when he comes home!”

Ginny’s eyebrows shot up. “Comes home?” she gasped.

Ron swore. “Damn, I’ve said too much already!” he exclaimed, dropping is hands and striding away angrily. 

Ginny followed him up the bank towards the orchard. “Does any of this have anything to do with the fact that last night Harry asked me to wait for him? What about the fact that he might be too scared to speak? Is he really facing death?” she asked, blocking his way.

Ron’s face registered six emotions at once as he nearly yelled, “Yes, Ginny! It has everything to do with all that! You heard what he said that day in the Room of Requirement. It’s either one or the other! Why else has he trained so hard and gone through hell to make sure you and I and everyone else has a chance at a better life? Harry doesn’t want to sacrifice himself, but he will if he has to!”

Ron crumpled to the grass as hot tears coursed down Ginny’s cheeks. He sat there, breathing hard as she knelt next to him, also fighting to control her emotions. Finally, she murmured, “I want to be with him, Ron.”

“I know, Ginny, but if you’re with him he’ll do nothing but worry about keeping you safe,” Ron said softly. “If he’s distracted by anything he won’t focus completely on getting rid of Voldemort. He has to be focused. Can you understand that?”

She nodded, struggling to accept the fact that it was best for Harry that she remain safely at home. “I can, but it isn’t easy. I’m going to worry about him, you know,” she told Ron in a small voice.

Ron smiled sadly. “I don’t think he’d have it any other way.”

They stood and resumed their walk, heading towards the family Quidditch pitch. They emerged from the trees just as Ginny thought of her father’s promise at King’s Cross.

“Do you think there’s really a possibility of going to Mrs Figg’s to see Harry this week?” she asked tentatively.

Ron shrugged. “I reckon it all depends on how Harry’s feeling and whether or not Dumbledore thinks it would be a good idea,” he said.

She turned sharply to face Ron. “I know visiting Harry would be a good idea, Ron,” she said, almost pleading. “I think I have Dad convinced of that. Harry needs something to look forward to while he’s cooped up with those awful relatives of his. Getting to see us might just be the trick to keep him going until Professor Dumbledore picks him up.” Ginny looked down at the ground, adding in a soft voice, “I’m just worried that Dudley will mistreat him intentionally and cause him to hurt his shoulder again.”

Ron looked worried too but wasn’t going to admit that just then. “Harry can look out for himself, Ginny,” he replied. “Besides, he has the Order guarding him day and night wherever he goes. Dudley wouldn’t dare mistreat him. Nor would his aunt and uncle after they read what was in Madam Pomfrey’s letter.”

“I hope you’re right,” Ginny said as Pig fluttered up. 

A note was attached to the owl’s leg. Ron plucked him out of the air and read it. “Mum and Dad are back, and Mum wants us to come in to help with dinner,” he reported. He grinned. “Hedwig’s here, too. Mum says she won’t give her message to anyone but you.”

Ginny gave a little hop of joy. “Well, what are we waiting for? Let’s go!” she asked and started back towards the house at a brisk walk.

“Hedwig’s on the back of your chair,” her mother called from the sink when Ginny and Ron entered the kitchen a few minutes later. 

Ginny leaned her walking stick against the door jam. “Thanks, Mum,” she called happily, walking over to the elegant white owl. “What do you have for me?”

Hedwig stuck out her leg, regarding Ginny with an imperious look that made her giggle. “I know. I took too long, didn’t I?” she asked as she removed Harry’s letter. Hedwig twittered impatiently, then fluttered over to Errol’s water bowl as Ginny tore open the envelope. She read as quickly as she could with Ron hovering over her shoulder trying to see what his best friend had to say.

“Ron, this is my letter. It’s personal! I’ll read you the parts you can hear when I’m done!” she exclaimed in exasperation as Ron tried to take the letter for the third time.

“What does he say, Ginny? Did he get home safely?” her mother queried. “Ron, stop pestering your sister and come peel sprouts for dinner.”

Ron groaned and picked up a knife. When his mother turned back to the stove, Ron slipped out his wand and pointed it at the colander of sprouts, murmuring a spell. The next instant, the sprouts grew stumpy little legs and began running all over the counter screaming, “Watch out for the knife!”

“Ronald Weasley! Cancel that charm _immediately!_” Mrs. Weasley yelled, grabbing for a nearby pot lid which she slammed down on top of the colander at the same time as she tried to commandeer Ron’s wand to do it herself.

“_Finite Incantatem! _” Ron hollered, just in time to scoop up half a dozen of the offending vegetables as their legs disappeared and they rolled off the counter. 

Ginny stood where she was, clutching her letter to her stomach and laughing more than she had all week, as Ron corralled the last of the sprouts and grudgingly picked up the knife again. Ginny resumed her reading.

Harry’s letter was short, just a note really. She was happy to see that he’d gotten home relatively unscathed, but was surprised by what he said about Dudley. _We’ll see how helpful that bloke is when Harry gets here_, she thought, tucking the note into her pocket. To Ron and her mother she said, “Harry’s home safe now, and so far he hasn’t had to do much more than set the table for dinner.”

“That’s good to hear,” Mrs. Weasley said absently as a sprout that had escaped Ron’s cancellation spell scampered across the back of the stove. She aimed her wand at it and sent it into Ron’s colander for peeling. “Call your father. Dinner is almost ready.”

At dinner, her parents wanted to know more about the awards ceremony than there had been time for at King’s Cross. Ron and Ginny told the story with many interruptions from the elder Weasleys–and each other as they remembered new things to tell. The conversation progressed to plans for the rest of the summer, along with the startling news that Bill had just asked a French witch named Fleur Delacour — who worked at Gringotts with him — to be his wife. Ron’s ears turned bright red when he reminded everyone that Fleur was one of the participants in the Triwizard Tournament.

“Will she be coming here for dinner?” Ginny asked.

“Actually, no,” Mr. Weasley answered. “Your mother and I will be meeting Bill and Fleur in London. We’ve arranged for you to visit your Great Aunt Muriel that weekend.”

“I’m not going!” Ron stated flatly, throwing down his napkin and pushing away from the table. “The last time we were at her house, she treated me like I was four instead of fourteen. Isn’t there any other place we could go?”

Mrs. Weasley shot a piercing glare at her son, and Ginny could see a head of steam beginning to build. “Ronald Bilius Weasley, don’t you take that tone with me,” Mrs. Weasley said. “You will do exactly as you’re told, young man! We’ve decided that Auntie Muriel’s is the best place for the two of you to stay out of trouble.”

“I’m of age,” Ron shot back. “I don’t have to go to Auntie Muriel’s if I don’t want to.”

“Calm down, Ron,” Mr. Weasley said. “Molly, Ron may be right. Perhaps the children should have some say in this.” He then turned to his son. “Do you have any suggestions as to where the two of you might stay?”

Ginny and Ron exchanged glances across the table. Ginny inclined her head slightly as Ron said, “I was thinking of asking Professor Dumbledore’s permission to stay at Hogwarts with Neville. He’s going back sometime next week to finish up his article for the _Healer’s Journal_ and do some additional experimentation with the Stink Sap extracts.” He looked hopefully at their parents. 

Mr and Mrs Weasley gazed intently at each other for a few moments, a means of communicating with each other which they had perfected over the years when it was impossible to hear each other over the clamour of seven noisy children. Ginny and Ron had dubbed this silent communication “The Look.” If the stare ended in frowns, they knew they didn’t have a prayer of getting what they wanted. However, tonight’s silent exchange ended with nods and slight smiles. Mr Weasley said almost casually, “Shall you or I write the headmaster, dear?”

Mrs Weasley looked at Ron and Ginny expectantly. “If you two will clean up the kitchen I’ll write to Professor Dumbledore.”

Ginny beamed at her mother. “Thank you. It will be nice to see Neville and Harry.”

“Harry’s going to be at Hogwarts this summer?” inquired Mr Weasley.

“Yes,” Ron answered. “Harry told us he won’t be staying with the Dursleys very long this summer. He needs to meet with Professor Dumbledore and the best solution was for him to live at Hogwarts before coming here after his birthday.”

“I see,” Mr Weasley said noncommittally. “Very well. If Professor Dumbledore agrees, then you most likely will have a good time that weekend.”

Ginny began gathering the plates and taking them to the sink. As she came back for more she asked casually, “Mum, would you ask Professor Dumbledore if Ron and I could impose on Mrs Figg to have tea with Harry later this week?”

Mr Weasley spoke directly to Ginny. “Thank you for reminding me of that. I don’t think it’s necessary to bother Professor Dumbledore about it. I’ll enquire at Mrs Figg’s about an appropriate day and have an answer for you very soon. Would you like to be the one to tell Harry of your plans?”

A huge grin lit up Ginny’s face as she said, “Yes, thank you, Dad. I’ll write back to him as soon as Ron and I finish the dishes.” Looking at Ron, she nodded towards the table and picked up the bowl of left-over sprouts and the empty bread basket. He grinned back and picked up the nearly empty platter of roast chicken and followed her over to the counter. Soon they had everything cleaned up and the extra food put away. Ron went into the living room to challenge their father to a game of chess and Ginny retired to her room to write to Harry.

_Dear Harry,_

_I’m so glad you got home safely and are being allowed to relax a bit. _

_You’ll never guess what Dad is going to arrange with Mrs Figg... _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to my pre-beta GhostWriter who helped me immensely with dialog and keeping the characters from getting too out of character. Thank you also to my betas Lady Narcissa and Aggiebell. They do so much for me in the way of encouragement, grammar control and comma policing that what you've just read is as polished as it is because of them. Finally, thank you readers for your wonderful comments. They keep me going and eager to finish the story I started. I really enjoy reading what you have to say.


	3. Working with Dudley

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The delay between chapters, even though I had completed the rough draft in June, has resulted in a chapter I think you’ll like. It has gone through such extensive rewrites that I no longer recognize the original chapter! I appreciate the encouragement and suggestions made by my pre-beta GhostWriter and my betas Lady Narcissa and Aggiebell. Every time they make me rewrite a chapter I learn a little more about writing. You two are absolutely terrific! 
> 
> To my readers, thank you for staying with my story and leaving such encouraging remarks in your reviews.

Harry awoke the following morning just as the sun began peeking through his window. Though free from bad dreams, the night had been far from restful. His thin, lumpy mattress provided little support and he had never found a comfortable spot.

Moaning quietly, Harry rolled off the bed and pushed himself upright. Grabbing yesterday’s clothes, he headed for the bathroom.

“You get up early!” Dudley greeted him from the bed twenty minutes later. “Don’t you ever sleep?”

Surprised, Harry jerked his head in the direction of his aunt and uncle’s room. “Keep it down!” he hissed, closing the door.

Dudley repeated the question.

Shaking his head, Harry replied, “Not on a mattress as lumpy as that one. Couldn’t get comfortable at all last night.” He rubbed his shoulder absently.

“Well, you ready to get started?” Dudley asked, looking somewhat disconcerted at Harry’s admission and changing the subject.

“What about your parents?” Harry queried worriedly.

“Them? Are you kidding? They won’t hear us with the racket Dad’s making in there. Now, are you ready to get started?”

“Yeah.” Harry tossed his things into his trunk and walked over to the pole he had set up the night before. Dudley heaved himself off the bed and grabbed the instruction sheet from Harry’s desk.

“I read that letter you gave Mum yesterday,” Dudley informed him casually. “Your school nurse doesn’t think you can move your arm very easily without pain.” He peered at Harry with his piggy little eyes. “How high can you raise your arm?”

Harry raised his arm until his shoulder began to hurt.

“That’s as far as it will go?” Dudley asked, with a hint of sarcasm. 

Harry nodded, feeling a bit annoyed at his cousin and thinking that he sounded an awful lot like Madam Pomfrey. 

Dudley then asked Harry to move his arm several more ways before stepping back and frowning at the instruction sheet. Finally, he pulled several sheets of copy paper from his back pocket that was covered in stationary diagrams and Dudley’s messy scrawl. He compared them to Madam Pomfrey’s parchment.

“Well?” Harry asked when he could stand Dudley’s silence no longer.

Dudley studied him a moment, then said, “Your school nurse was right. We gotta start with the stretchiest band. You can’t lift your arm very high and according to this exercise sheet Robert and I worked with last term, you should have progressed to the third band by now.”

“What else did it say?”

Dudley consulted his papers. “Ice the injury for twenty minutes several times a day. Have you been doing that?”

“No.”

Dudley harrumphed and rolled his eyes. “Well, I guess that’s the difference between sports medicine and whatever you people call it.” He handed the pages to Harry and walked over to select the rubber band he wanted. “You can read that stuff later. Let’s get busy. I want to work out before breakfast.”

They started working. It seemed strange to Harry that Dudley could be encouraging at all; he had expected his cousin to act almost like Professor Snape at his worst, sneering at his students’ efforts. Instead, Dudley calmly talked his way through each exercise, making sure Harry did each one correctly. By the time they were done, Harry needed another shower, so Dudley left, telling him to come out to the garage when he was done.

Harry was amazed at what Dudley had set up at the back of the garage near the kitchen door. The floor of Dudley’s exercise area was covered with a thick rubber mat. Harry bounced lightly on the balls of his feet as he took in the transformed area. Immediately to his left a set of free weights sat lined up on a rack in front of an old mirror. Next to it a speed bag was attached to the wall. In the far corner was a weight lifting bench complete with weight bar. Finally, an old punching bag hung from the rafters in the middle of the space. Dudley had stripped to the waist and donned a pair of boxing gloves. His concentration was intense as he slugged the bag. He looked up, grinning, as Harry leaned against the door jam.

“This is nice,” Harry commented appreciatively. “When did you put all this up?”

“Christmas hols,” Dudley answered between punches. “The nurse at Smeltings watches me like a hawk and ‘suggested’ to Dad that I continue the training program she and the boxing coach have me on at school when I’m home during my school breaks. So Dad and I put this up.”

“Do you work out every morning?” Harry asked, his curiosity mounting.

“Yeah. Drives Robert crazy on weekends, though Mum and Dad are happy I’m keeping up with my training this summer. You ever do any lifting at that school of yours?”

“A little,” Harry answered, thinking of all the new equipment he had been using in the P-T Room at Hogwarts prior to the battle for Hogsmeade.

“Good. Then you’ll know what to do.” Dudley yanked off his gloves and strode over to the line of free weights. He selected two tiny dumbbells and then told Harry to join him in front of the mirror. “Robert’s information sheet said you should be doing some lifting to build up your muscles. I made him come down to the gym with me because his doctor recommended it. He hated it at first, but the longer he trained, the better his shoulder got. I think yours will, too.

“I made a list of exercises you can do out here that may or may not require a small dumbbell.” He shoved the weights into Harry’s hands. “When you do these exercises watch yourself in the mirror to see if you’re doing them right.”

“What should I look for?” Harry asked earnestly.

“Don’t slouch. Stand up straight. God you’ve got awful posture!” Dudley replied, poking Harry in the back. “Start with the easiest one first. Go slow for maximum effectiveness. You’ll know if you’re doing it right.” Dudley paused, and then something akin to a sneer crossed his face. “Think you can handle all this?”

Harry shot Dudley a hard look before nodding and turning to the mirror. Dudley smirked and walked back over to the bag to resume his slugging. Harry gazed at himself in the mirror, feeling rather shy about watching his posture. _I’ve got to do this if I’m going to heal up soon, _ he thought.

He then read through the list Dudley had fastened to a clipboard and hung on a nail next to the mirror. He was reluctant to try anything not prescribed by Madam Pomfrey, but his desire to get better soon won out over his inner protests. He started with the easiest exercise and progressed down the list until he had finished everything without the weights. Then, he did them all over again with the weights Dudley had given him, working until the pain had him gritting his teeth. He knew he had to push through it to get well, the sooner the better, he decided.

Suddenly, Dudley was at Harry’s side, placing a rough hand on Harry’s shoulder and stopping the exercise session. “Are you trying to kill yourself?” he scoffed. “Potter, if it hurts more than a little, stop and get an ice bag and give it a rest. You can do more later.” He strode over to the weight bench muttering, “Stubborn git doesn’t know when to quit.”

Harry put the weights away and slipped back into the kitchen, warily looking round for his uncle. The snoring was still coming from upstairs and he heaved a sigh of relief. At the sound, Aunt Petunia looked up from where she stood at the stove making breakfast.

“Morning, Aunt Petunia,” Harry said. He shut the door quietly. “Dudley said there was an ice bag in here somewhere. Where can I find it?”

His aunt put down her spatula. “What do you need it for?” she snapped. “And why were you bothering Dudley?” 

“My shoulder hurts. Dudley said ice would help,” Harry said, advancing further into the kitchen. He began opening cupboards, looking for the screw-top rubber-lined cloth bag he knew was kept near at hand.

“I’ll get it. It’s up too high for you to reach and I don’t want you falling off the stepladder,” Aunt Petunia told him irritably. She took the bag from a shelf above the stove and filled it with ice before handing it to Harry. “Mind that it doesn’t drip.”

Harry put the ice bag on his shoulder, silently wishing for one of Healer Rodkey’s inflammation reduction charms. “Thanks,” he mumbled. “I’m going upstairs to lie down.”

“Don’t fall asleep. Breakfast will be in thirty minutes. I won’t hold your food,” Aunt Petunia called waspishly.

The ice felt good. As the pain ebbed, Harry reached for his alarm clock and set it. He was asleep in seconds.

Breakfast was a silent affair. Uncle Vernon had finally come downstairs still clad in pyjamas and dressing gown and promptly buried himself in his Sunday newspaper. Dudley came in from the garage and quickly gulped his meal, answering any questions his mother asked him very briefly. Aunt Petunia had set a Dudley-sized plate of eggs, bacon and toast in front of Harry and sat down across from him with only a cup of tea. As he ate the huge meal she eyed him over her cup, making him feel extremely ill at ease. 

As soon as he was finished, Harry cleared up his dishes, then left for his room. Hedwig hadn’t returned, so he pulled his Transfiguration book out of his trunk and began his summer essay. When that got tiring, he pushed aside the layer of debris at the bottom of his trunk, opened the lid to a secret nook he had created there and pulled out some notes he had made of his talks with Professor Dumbledore. He studied these until lunchtime.

Dudley was the only one in the kitchen when Harry went down stairs. “Where’s Aunt Petunia?” he asked, sitting down across the table from his cousin. 

“Mum? She’s outside hacking at the rose bushes. One of those owls you people use to carry your post showed up with a letter she had to sign and send back. She wasn’t at all happy the owl came during the day,” Dudley reported, smiling. “I’ll be surprised if there’s anything left of those bushes by the time she gets through with them. You always get them to bloom real nice while you’re here.”

Harry stared at his cousin in surprise. _A compliment from Dudley? Where’d that come from? _ Unable to form a more articulate response, Harry mumbled his thanks and bit into his sandwich.

The two boys ate in silence for a few minutes until Dudley finally asked, “How do you do it, Harry?”

Harry raised an eyebrow. “Do what?” he asked.

Dudley stared at his plate, nervously picking through his pile of mixed fruit slices. “Stand up to things like the Dementoids and that Voldemort creep you talk about sometimes,” he said to his sandwich. “You don’t seem too scared of him.”

Harry thought a moment before replying, “Voldemort’s been around for as long as I can remember. Yeah, he scares me, but what I’m learning at school is going to help me survive the next time we duel. I found that out during the battle in Hogsmeade.” He paused, choosing his words carefully. “And knowing about Dementors, erm, that’s just a part of what I’ve learned.”

Dudley put down his sandwich and looked directly at Harry. “I could never go into the kind of fight like the one that did that to you,” he said, pointing his fork at Harry’s sling.

“Why do you say that? You’re the Smeltings boxing champion for goodness’ sake!” Harry exclaimed. He picked up his milk glass and took a big swig.

“That’s different. It’s just sport. You–you could have died in that fight, Harry! I wouldn’t have the guts to do what you did.”

“Hold on there, Dudley. I know you spend hours in the gym training. You’re surrounded by coaches and your teammates, too. Isn’t Piers on the team? What about Robert? Doesn’t he go to your matches? I know you know what you’re doing when you climb into the ring!”

Dudley shook his head. “I’m not popular with my team, Harry,” he said, looking like it was actually costing him something to admit it. “No one but the coaches ever says stuff like you just did to me. And Piers and I haven’t done much together at Smeltings. He’s in another dormitory; he’s made other friends and we hardly ever see each other since he’s gotten involved in the computer club and I’m at the gym all the time.” 

“You were with Piers and your other friends yesterday evening,” Harry remarked.

Dudley harrumphed. “Like that was a laugh!” he said sarcastically. “For the first time it wasn’t much fun scaring the little kids out of the play park. Something didn’t feel right, but I couldn’t tell Malcolm or Piers that. They’d think I’m just as weird as you!” He bit into his sandwich and chewed thoughtfully. “Robert’s all right, but he cares more about passing his classes than getting fit and hardly ever comes out of the library if he can help it.”

Harry suppressed a smile as he thought about Hermione’s love for the Hogwarts library. “There’s nothing wrong with the library,” he said more to himself than to Dudley. “My friend Hermione spends loads of time in there looking up survival stuff for me to learn. Half of what I know I learned from her!”

Dudley pushed away from the table and lumbered over to the refrigerator. “That’s the difference between you and me; you have friends, I–I don’t. Not like the ones who come to get you,” he said, sounding dejected. He grabbed the carton of milk and left the kitchen, leaving Harry to clean up both their plates.

After another short nap with the remains of the ice, Harry felt restless and told Aunt Petunia he was going over to the play park. Sticking his wand in his back pocket, he began walking briskly down Privet Drive towards Wisteria Walk.

The air was just beginning to warm up, making it the perfect time for a walk. Harry listened to the sounds of the neighbourhood, keeping an ear out for the sound of his minder, whom he knew was following at a discreet distance. Half-way there he heard someone stumble and wondered if Tonks was on duty.

He reached the play park and continued walking briskly round the inside perimeter. The pages Dudley had given him emphasized keeping up with his pre-injury level of physical fitness, and that’s exactly what he was determined to do. Round and round he went until he was pleasantly tired and slightly out of breath. He grabbed a quick sip of water at the park’s fountain and then found a seat on one of the swings. He took off his sling and stuck it in his back pocket. It felt good to let the arm dangle loosely at his side. 

It was nice sitting there alone. The sun warmed his skin, making his minor aches disappear. He felt stronger today and knew that Dudley had been just as right about physical exercise as Madam Pomfrey. He was enjoying the solitude, too. As much as he loved Hogwarts, there was never a place where he could be truly alone; someone was always trying to find him and sometimes he felt as if he lived in a fish bowl with people peering in on him at all hours of the day.

He didn’t know how long he sat on the swing watching the shadows change with the movement of the sun. It was peaceful here, healing even, and when a mother brought her little son into the play area he observed them with interest.

A bark of harsh laughter and the creaking of the park gate made him jump, ending his contemplation. He looked round. Dudley and his friends Dennis, Gordon, Piers, and Malcolm had let themselves in and were strolling his way. Out of the corner of his eye, Harry saw the mother grab her young son from the teeter-totter and hurriedly leave the park, staying as far away from the newcomers as possible.

Now alone on the swings, Harry watched as Dudley and his friends sauntered further into the park. All five were smoking cigarettes and joking around as they walked. Gordon yelled something rude at the woman and her son as they fled the park while Malcolm punched Piers playfully on the arm. Harry knew they hadn’t seen him yet, but it would only be a matter of time.

“Hey, Big D, isn’t that scrawny kid your cousin?” Dennis asked several minutes later as they came into the play area.

“Yeah, so what if it is him?” Dudley said in a bored tone.

“Isn’t he the one that goes to that school for criminals?” Malcolm asked. “The one all the parents keep whispering about?”

Gordon suddenly switched to a falsetto voice. “Gordon, dear, don’t go near that Potter kid when he comes home for holiday. He’s been at that school for criminals again this year and I don’t want you around him.”

This struck everyone but Dudley as extremely funny and the group burst out laughing. Harry could see that for the first time in his life, Dudley wasn’t particularly enjoying Gordon’s antics.

Harry stayed in his swing waiting to see what Dudley’s gang would do next. Behind him, he heard a soft shuffle of feet and knew his minder had moved closer to him. For the second time since he’d left the house Harry wondered if he or she had a back-up should things get out of hand.

“Hey, Potter!” Gordon said, coming to stand a few feet from Harry. “Who said you could swing here?”

“No one,” Harry answered. “I was here first.”

“Well, I want your swing,” Gordon demanded, stepping closer. 

Harry looked at the other swings. They were all intact and mostly new. “There are others you can sit in,” he answered levelly.

Gordon was now so close that Harry could smell stale cigarettes on his breath. “Look, freak. That’s my swing and I’m going to sit in it,” he said, his voice taking on a menacing tone.

Harry considered his options for a few seconds. He couldn’t believe Gordon was picking a fight with him on such a childish pretext. However, he knew he was in no shape for a brawl, especially against Dudley’s whole gang. He slowly rose from the swing. “It’s all yours, then,” he said, moving backwards away from Gordon. “I’ve even warmed the seat for you.”

Gordon followed Harry. “Don’t get cheeky with me, Potter. Did I say you could leave?”

“I don’t recall needing your permission,” Harry replied, taking a couple of steps backward to get completely clear of the swings and a possible confrontation. Dudley, he noticed, was standing off to one side watching the row develop.

“That’s not my point. You don’t have my _permission_ to leave,” Gordon growled, following him. 

Sarcasm crept into Harry’s voice as he replied, “I apologize, then, sir. May I go?”

“Yeah, but I’d watch my back if I were you,” Gordon said. “We don’t like freaks around here.”

Harry swallowed, hoping that his minder was ready to take action. “So I’ve heard,” he said tightly, glancing at Dudley. “I’ll be on my way, then.” 

As he turned to leave Harry heard Dudley mutter, “Don’t call him a freak,” just loud enough to be heard and paused in surprise. 

“What’s got into you?” Piers asked, voicing the question Harry wanted to ask.

“Just leave him alone, all right?” Dudley said somewhat defensively.

As Harry walked past him, Dudley half-turned saying, “Get out of here. I’ll take care of them.” Harry nodded and left the play area, walking towards the park gate. As he neared it he chanced a glance over his shoulder. He wished he hadn’t. Gordon had followed him and within seconds had yanked Harry’s wand and sling from his back pocket. He threw the sling on the grass and examined the wand with interest.

“What’s this? Hey, the freak carries a toy wand with him!” he chortled, turning the polished holly shaft in his hand. “Do you think you can scare me with a bunch of hocus-pocus like you do Dudley’s parents? Huh?”

“Give it back, Gordon,” Harry said, extending his hand. 

“What do you need it for, freak?” He backed up waving the wand in Harry’s face, just out of reach.

“It’s mine. Now give it back.” Harry said a little more forcefully, following Gordon back towards the play area.

Gordon tossed the wand into the air like a baton and let it drop to the ground. Harry bent to grab it, but the other boy raised a booted foot forcing Harry to snatch his hand away as the foot descended a little. “No! Don’t break it!” Harry yelled desperately.

Laughing, Gordon picked up the fallen wand and waved it triumphantly, shouting, “Abra kadabra! Sis boom bah!” When nothing happened he turned and threw the wand into the back garden of one of the houses on Magnolia Road. “You want it, go get it!”

Harry lunged, his injuries forgotten. His reaction took Gordon by surprise and Harry actually landed a couple of good punches before two sets of hands roughly pulled him away from Gordon and held him tightly. Harry winced as Malcolm tugged on his left arm, but otherwise tried not to let on how much his captors were hurting him. Instead, he searched the park for Dudley, but his cousin was nowhere to be seen.

Dennis now walked up to stand next to Gordon. “Looking for your cousin, freak? Well, he’s gone, said something about Old Lady Figg or something. Weird!” 

Harry twisted, struggling to free himself, his mind racing. _Where is Tonks or whoever the hell is supposed to be minding me? _ he wondered as Dennis’ words gradually sank in. _Has Dudley gone to find her? _

“He cheeked me,” Gordon sneered, as Harry nearly wrenched his right arm from Piers’ grasp. “Go on, Dennis. Teach the freak a lesson.”

“Yeah, teach him a lesson!” Malcolm called, shifting his grip on Harry’s arm.

A feral grin spread across Dennis’s face and he cocked his fist. “I think I will,” he snarled.

Harry waited for the punch as he made another attempt at freedom. He tightened his stomach muscles as much as possible and closed his eyes against the anticipated pain. He’d been in this situation many times when he was little and had been caught at the end of Dudley’s frequent “Harry hunts.” _Just get it over with, Dennis! _ he silently pleaded. 

The punch landed high on his abdomen, rock solid and taking Harry’s breath with it. He doubled over gasping for air and waiting for the second blow that was sure to follow. It never came. Instead, there was a shriek from behind him and the sound of something whirling through the air. It connected with a clank and the next instant, Dennis and Piers dropped his arms as the implement connected a second time. 

“Get away from him, you no-good rapscallions!” the familiar voice of Mrs. Figg yelled as Harry collapsed on the ground.

Dudley’s gang scattered. The sight of Mrs Figg chasing after Dennis and Gordon swinging her string bag of cat food tins would have been laughable if Harry didn’t hurt so much. Instead, he lay where he had fallen and fought to control his breathing. He couldn’t. Every time he took a deep breath pain lanced through his ribs and he knew Dennis had broken at least two of them. He rolled over on his back, breathing shallowly. His eyes drifted shut as he willed away the pain.

“Harry,” a second voice called urgently. “Harry! I came as soon as I received the summons! Are you all right?”

“Tonks?” he queried, not opening his eyes.

“Wotcher, Harry,” she said. “Where are you hurt?”

“Ribs,” he gasped, opening his eyes. “I think they’re broken.”

“Can I see?” Tonks asked, reaching for the hem of his shirt. Harry nodded and she exposed his abdomen, probing gently with her fingers until he flinched.

“Harry, I’m going to fix your ribs. Three are broken. Hold still,” she said. He did and seconds later felt her healing spell wash over him in familiar waves of heat, then cold. He took an experimental deep breath and was grateful when he felt no pain except for a lingering burning sensation from the spell.

“Thanks, Tonks,” he mumbled, pushing himself into a sitting position.

“No problem,” she said. “Did they hurt you anywhere else?”

Harry shook his head. “I don’t think so. I hurt, but it’s nothing one of my pain potions and some ice won’t fix,” he admitted, flexing his left shoulder, wincing.

He suddenly glanced sharply at Tonks. “You were right here,” he said, an accusing note creeping into his voice. “Why didn’t you stop them before they hurt me?”

Tonks’ face flushed. “Sorry, kid,” she replied, handing him his wand. “No one was watching you. Dudley nearly busted down Arabella’s door trying to get her to come to your rescue.”

“He did?” Harry stared incredulously at Tonks. “Then, all the sounds I heard were just tricks of my imagination?”

“I’m afraid so,” Tonks said gravely. “Almost every Order member and all the Aurors were out in the field today trying to divert attention from what the Muggles are calling a car bombing near the Westminster underground station. You might have heard the Muggle news reporting it.” She sighed as Harry shook his head. “The Ministry’s having a devil of time keeping a lid on things with the Muggles — what with the increasing Death Eater attacks. It’s getting harder and harder to keep our world a secret.”

Harry opened his mouth to retort, but Tonks cut him off.

“Come on, then. Let’s get you home,” she said, helping him to his feet. She grabbed her Invisibility Cloak from where it lay beside him.

Harry swayed a bit, then recovered his balance as Mrs Figg came puffing toward them.

“That Dennis!” she exclaimed angrily. “I’ll skin him alive if I ever catch him!” 

Harry smiled at his elderly neighbour. “You do that,” he told her.

She frowned and asked, “Are you all right? Can you make it home?”

“I’m fine,” he said, gritting his teeth as they walked slowly towards the park gate. “The sooner I get home, the better.”

Half an hour later, the three stopped in front of the wall separating the Dursley’s garden from the street. Tonks, who had disappeared under her cloak again when they left the park, gently patted him on the back as Mrs Figg opened the gate. “You made the right choice not to draw your wand, Harry,” she said, confirming his earlier decision. 

Harry wished he could believe Mrs Figg, but for once his mind and heart were not cooperating; he had too many unanswered questions. “Why didn’t Dudley defend me?” he blurted, asking the question that was utmost in his mind. “I know we’ve never liked each other much, but he could have at least called off his goons!”

Tonks’ voice spoke softly over his shoulder. “He did something better, Harry. He found your wand and gave it to me. It may have looked like he was condoning his friends’ actions, but he chose the right thing instead of going along with Gordon and Dennis,” she said.

Harry closed his eyes, hoping Tonks’ story was true. “Thanks for telling me, Tonks,” he muttered, turning towards the gate.

“I’ll be speaking to Dumbledore about this, Harry,” Mrs Figg told him. “He might want Madam Pomfrey to check you over. In any case, send Hedwig to me tomorrow morning. I’ll have my answer by then.” She stepped back. “Go on with you now. You’ll go upstairs and lie down, if you know what’s good for you.”

Harry smiled wanly. “I will, Mrs Figg,” he said. “Oh, and thanks for coming to my rescue.” 

“No need to thank me, Harry. I’ll be in touch,” she said and shuffled off down the street, her string bag clanking softly with each step.

Harry wasted no time upon entering the house. He ached all over and all he could think about was a fresh bag of ice and a pain potion. Aunt Petunia had left the ice bag on the counter next to the sink. He filled it with ice and headed for his bedroom, his anger simmering. Why had he thought Dudley would defend him in front of his friends, especially after what they’d talked about at lunch? Just because Dudley had been nice to him last night and this morning, he’d let his guard down, wanting to trust him a little. Feeling frustrated, Harry pushed open his door, but stopped when something rustled behind him.

“Are you… all right?” Dudley’s question sounded tentative, as if concern for Harry was a completely foreign idea.

Harry turned. “I’ve been better,” he answered as he gingerly rubbed his ribcage.

Dudley nodded. “I tried to stop them,” he muttered, studying his trainers. “I didn’t do a very good job of it.”

Harry crossed the landing, pulling his wand from his pocket. Dudley’s eyes widened, but Harry switched his grasp and did not point the tip at his cousin. “Thank you for finding my wand,” he said softly. “Getting this back means a lot. Will your friends be angry?”

Dudley shoved his hands in his pockets. “It doesn’t matter. They’ll forget about what I did in a day or two,” he mumbled. He looked up at Harry’s shoulder. “Have you taken your medicine yet?”

Harry shook his head, feeling tired and achy. “Not yet, but the ice is helping already,” he admitted, smiling as he adjusted the ice bag in a better spot.

“Good,” Dudley said, turning into his room. “I’ll see you tomorrow morning, then.”

“Yeah, good night, Dudley,” Harry said, as he entered his room. He quickly downed a dose of his pain potion and settled onto his bed. The cold found its way further into his shoulder as the potion kicked in, making him relaxed and sleepy. Turning towards the wall, Harry closed his eyes and shut out the world.


	4. What a Week!

Tuesday morning was always laundry day at the Weasley house. For as long as she could remember, Ginny had trudged from room to room collecting the family laundry baskets and lining them up in the scullery. Working closely with her mother was something Ginny actually enjoyed, because she always had her mother’s almost undivided attention. The two had spent many a pleasurable hour discussing all sorts of subjects that only the women of the house could share. Today was no exception, and as soon as the breakfast dishes were done, the two began the weekly chore of providing everyone with clean clothes. 

“Ginny, please hang this load of sheets on the line to dry,” Mrs Weasley requested, holding out a large wicker basket. “I’ll be out in a few minutes to help you with the two largest ones.”

Ginny took the basket out to the clothes lines her mother had set up in the middle of the back garden. A row of towels flapped in the light breeze and Ginny checked them for dryness before pinning up the first sheet. As she tugged a second sheet out of the basket a low twitter caught her attention. She dropped the sheet and gazed into the amber eyes of her favourite snowy owl. Hedwig gave a little hop and landed on Ginny’s shoulder, nipping at the fly-away tendrils of red hair that had escaped from Ginny’s plait.

“I’m glad to see you, too,” Ginny said, giggling a little as the owl’s feathers tickled her head. She stroked Hedwig’s chest. “Do you have a letter for me from Harry?”

Hedwig stuck out her leg revealing two separate scrolls of parchment. The first one had her name on, so she detached it, noting that the second missive was for Ron.

“Thanks, Hedwig. Ron’s up in his bedroom. You can ask him for a snack or go find some of the mice Pig was hunting yesterday out in the orchard. Take your pick,” Ginny told the owl.

Hedwig gently squeezed Ginny’s shoulder with her talons and took off for Ron’s room. The laundry forgotten, Ginny sank onto one of the garden benches and began to read Harry’s letter.

For Harry, this was a long letter, nearly two full pages. He included a detailed accounting of the daily routine he had fallen into, mentioning how much he had improved over the last few days under Dudley’s brusque guidance. Ginny was pleased that although he still felt some pain in his shoulder, he could now raise his arm completely over his head while supporting a medium-sized weight. She was still somewhat sceptical, though, of his report that his aunt and uncle had not yet required him to do any particularly strenuous yard work.

A hand on her shoulder caused her to jump and she looked up to find Ron peering down at her letter. His own letter from Harry was in his hand. “Want to compare?” he inquired. 

Ginny scooted over to give Ron room to sit down. “What did Harry write to you?” she asked.

“The usual. He’s looking forward to tomorrow afternoon and believe it or not, he’s got half his homework done! I haven’t even thought about my essays, much less started them,” Ron exclaimed, shaking his head.

“That makes two of us,” Ginny agreed. She then told him about Dudley helping Harry.

“Dudley? That bully?” Ron exclaimed, his eyebrows rising toward his fringe. “I’ll believe that when I see it.”

“Let’s ask Harry about his training tomorrow,” Ginny suggested. “If he really is better, he should be willing to tell us what they’ve been doing.”

“Good thinking, Ginny,” Ron said, standing up. He reached for the sheet Ginny had dropped back into the basket. “Mum told me to come out and help you with these.”

“Thanks,” Ginny said, and picked up the other end. Together they made quick work of the remaining sheets and were soon striding back to the house, talking about their upcoming trip to Mrs Figg’s.

*

The next afternoon Ginny and Ron stepped out of Mrs Figg’s fire place a few minutes before the appointed time they were to meet with Harry. As she landed on the hearth, Ginny lunged forward to keep from falling flat on her face and stepped on a cat’s tail. The resulting yowl pierced the air, causing the other felines in the room to run for cover. Ginny righted herself just in time to get out of Ron’s way as Mrs Figg bustled into the living room carrying a serving tray upon which plates, cups, a large teapot, and a sugar and creamer set rested. 

“My, my, my, don’t you make a good alarm, Mr Tibbles,” Mrs Figg crooned to the large cat wrapping itself sinuously about her ankles, even as it scowled at Ginny. Smiling, the older woman looked up at Ron and Ginny. “Welcome to my home. Harry hasn’t come round yet, but I expect him momentarily. Please, sit down.” She gestured to the worn sofa and wingback chairs grouped round a low circular table.

As Ron sat in one of the wing chairs, Ginny asked, “What can I help with, Mrs Figg?”

Their hostess smiled. “It would be nice if you could bring in the gateau for me. The plate is rather heavy, and I would hate to see such a marvellous confection end up on the floor,” she said.

Ginny followed Mrs Figg into the kitchen and picked up the large cake smothered in chocolate icing. As she threaded her way between the several cats that lay on the floor, the doorbell rang. Mrs Figg left her tray of small sandwiches on the counter and hastened past Ginny to answer the door.

“Welcome, Harry, dear! Do come in. It’s so good to see you again,” Ginny heard Mrs Figg exclaim as she set the gateau on the table. Harry’s mumbled greeting was drowned by the loud meowing of several cats that had slunk in as he stepped inside.

Ginny straightened up as Harry greeted Ron, wondering whether her boyfriend would want to kiss her in front of Mrs Figg. He didn’t. Instead, he held her close for a long time. They connected mentally.

_I’ve really missed you, Ginny._

_I’ve missed you, too, Harry. _ She gazed past his glasses into the green eyes that had haunted her dreams for the past three nights. He seemed tired to her, mentally as well as physically. _Are you all right? _

_I’m fine, Ginny. Honestly. _ His answer caused her to scowl, but she let it go for the moment. Aloud he said, “Ginny, please thank your dad for arranging this. I’m very glad you’re here.”

“I will, Harry,” she promised.

The three found seats before Mrs Figg’s cats could take over the furniture. Harry followed Ginny to the sofa and sat close enough to her for their knees to touch. One glance at Ron’s efforts not to look their way nearly caused Ginny to burst out laughing. She quickly covered her mouth with her hand and coughed several times. However, she couldn’t keep the smile off her face as Harry queried, _Is Ron embarrassed by how close I’m sitting?_

_Absolutely, Harry! He’s treating this tea as a very formal occasion because of Mrs Figg... and Mum’s admonishments to be on our best behaviour, of course. Just look at his ears! _she chortled. Mum would be proud!

It was now Harry’s turn to grin in Ron’s direction, although he did scoot away from her onto the sofa’s other cushion. Ginny felt Ron’s eyes on her and she glanced up to see her brother nodding his approval. She scowled back, daring Ron to say something about inappropriate behaviour. _He’s no fun, _ she thought.

_Not at all, _ Harry echoed back. They grinned at each other.

_Personally, I think Ron wants us to sit that close_, Ginny said.

Harry raised an eyebrow in her direction. _You think? I’d love to, Ginny, but I don’t think Mrs Figg would approve. _

Ginny snickered behind her hand.

At that moment, their hostess brought in one last tray of food–a large treacle tart that had Harry grinning from ear to ear–and made a big production of serving the first cups of tea to each of her guests. None of the three spoke until everyone had a cup and the plates of food had been passed. Then, Mrs Figg excused herself saying, “Holler if you’d like another pot of tea. I’ll come back to cut the cake when you’re ready.”

She left to a chorus of ‘Thank Yous,’ leaving the three friends to chat. They ate quietly for a few minutes and when she had refreshed everyone’s cup, Ginny turned to Harry. “It’s good to see you without your sling.”

“I haven’t needed it for a couple of days,” he said, a note of pride in his voice. “Dudley’s got me working out in the garage two times a day, three if he can bully me into it. Madam Pomfrey should be pleased the next time she checks me over.”

Ron looked interested as he asked, “What sort of things is Dudley having you do?”

Harry launched into a detailed explanation of his exercise program which had Ron on the edge of his seat. Ginny leaned back and watched them, happy for the moment just to be near Harry. He seemed to have perked up a bit since he arrived. _Maybe it’s seeing some friendly faces, _ she thought.

“Well, that’s it,” Harry finished. “I’m now using the second to last rubber band with Madam Pomfrey’s post contraption, and I’m hoping to be on the last one by the time Professor Dumbledore comes to pick me up.”

“When will that be?” Ginny asked.

The smile left Harry’s face. “I don’t know. It could be Saturday, it could be a week from yesterday, I might have to stay the entire fortnight. All I know is that I’m to expect an owl that hasn’t come yet.”

“Will you need to come back here next year?” Ron asked looking at Ginny. She shook her head, trying to convey the question was unnecessary.

Harry, however, looked relieved. “As of 31st July, I’m completely finished with the Dursleys and the need to endure my annual sentence at their house,” he replied, a slight smile spreading across his face. “I’m going to tell Aunt Petunia she can do whatever she wants with my, erm... Dudley’s second bedroom... after I leave with Professor Dumbledore. My short stay here this summer is all I’ll have to endure until I turn seventeen.”

“And then what happens?” Ron asked quietly.

Harry shrugged. “I’ll be an adult living at Hogwarts for the most part until I have to face him,” he said, adding emphasis to the last word. No one spoke for several seconds.

“What about your aunt and uncle and Dudley?” Ginny asked, curious to know what would happen to them in a morbid sort of way and eager to get thoughts of Voldemort out of her head.

“Professor Dumbledore seems to think they’ll have to go into hiding once my mother’s protective charm ends,” Harry commented, pushing aside a cucumber sandwich and taking a large bite of treacle tart. He followed it with a sip of tea. “I’m not envying the Order members who will be assigned to their evacuation. My uncle won’t be very cooperative, I’m afraid.”

“What’ll he do? Turn purple again?” Ron asked, a small amused smile lighting up his face. Ginny recalled hearing Fred and George’s story about their Tonne Tongue Toffees a few years ago and their detailed description of Vernon Dursley’s colour changes.

“Among other things,” Harry said, indifferently. “I’m more concerned with how Dudley’s going to take it.”

“Huh?” Ron asked. “When did you start caring about Dudley?”

Harry picked up his cup, but didn’t drink. “Last Sunday afternoon,” he mumbled, suddenly looking uncomfortable. His tone made both Ginny and Ron feel uneasy.

As Ginny glanced uncomfortably at Harry, something occurred to her that she hadn’t thought of since late Sunday afternoon. “Harry,” she asked quietly, “did something happen to you on Sunday?”

Both Ron and Harry stared at her. “What makes you say that?” he asked, his voice cautiously casual.

“Were you wearing your phoenix?” she pushed.

Harry nodded slowly. “Yeah, but what of it? The Burrow’s a hundred miles from here,” he answered evasively.

“Harry, my angel vibrated. The only reason for that would be you needing me,” Ginny told him, determined to get to the bottom of what was bothering her. “You know that.”

“It couldn’t have done,” he said, not meeting her eyes. “There’s too much distance between us.”

“Well, it did,” Ginny insisted, reaching up to finger her necklace. “But before I could tell Dad about it, Tonks called an urgent Order meeting and he had to leave.”

“That meeting could have been about anything, Ginny,” Ron interjected.

Ginny scowled at him. “Then why did Dad pull Mum up to their bedroom and lock the door for ten minutes when he got home?” she demanded. “He only does that when he needs to talk to her about Harry and doesn’t want us hearing what they’re saying. The rest of the time they just talk quietly in the corner of the kitchen.”

Ron nodded and turned to Harry. “Did something happen that you’re not telling us?” he asked, an accusatory note creeping into his voice.

Harry looked down at his dilapidated trainers, mumbling, “Dudley’s gang cornered me in the park.”

Instantly, Ron and Ginny were by his side. Fury washed over Ginny as she put her arm around Harry’s shoulders. She was silent for a moment, gaining control of her emotions. “I’m so, so sorry, Harry.”

Ron pushed aside the teapot and sat on the table. The wood protested a bit and he slid to his knees. “Did they hurt you, mate?”

Harry inhaled and closed his eyes. “Dudley’s friend Dennis broke three of my ribs,” he muttered. “But Dudley didn’t stick around once they started after me.”

Ginny bit her lip as Ron stormed towards the door, his hand reaching for his wand. “Come back here, Ron!” she hissed. “Going after Dudley and that Dennis kid won’t do any good. They’re Muggles and you could get in serious trouble if you hex them!”

Ron’s eyes blazed as he directed his anger at Harry. “Why didn’t you fight back?” he demanded. “A couple of spells and you would have been rid of those gits.”

Harry jumped to his feet, facing Ron. “Don’t you think I wanted to hex them?” he shot back, his voice rising with each word. “Gordon had my wand, Ron. He threatened to snap it in two.” Hearing this, Ron’s hand twitched towards his wand, but other than that he made no movement until Harry ended his story saying, “I can’t afford another letter from the Ministry and you know why.”

The two boys stared at each other, breathing hard, and then Ron nodded and slowly sat back down. Puzzled, Ginny tried to contact Harry but he blocked her thoughts, the first time he had ever done such a thing. His refusal to accept her questions shook her badly, and she wondered why Harry didn’t want to answer her. Without even looking at him, she excused herself and hurried into the kitchen carrying the teapot.

“More tea, dear?” Mrs Figg inquired, looking up from the Muggle newspaper she had spread on the kitchen table.

“Yes, and we’re ready to cut the gateau,” Ginny said, reaching for the tin of tea and the kettle of hot water that simmered on the stove. 

Mrs Figg pushed away from the table. “Ginny, what was all the arguing out there just now? I nearly went out there to see what was the matter,” she said.

Ginny said, “Harry just told us what happened to him on Sunday afternoon. The three of us were arguing about it. Ron didn’t like it that Dudley’s friends hurt Harry.”

“No, I don’t think he would and neither did Nymphadora.”

Ginny’s eyes widened. “Tonks was there and didn’t do anything to stop Dudley’s gang?” she asked angrily. “Why not?”

Sighing, Mrs Figg said, “Harry had no protection that afternoon, Ginny.” . 

“I don’t understand, Mrs Figg. Why wasn’t anyone following him?” Ginny demanded.

“Ginny, almost every Order member and all the Aurors were out in the field trying to divert attention from what the Muggles called a car bombing near the Westminster Underground station. It took Dudley Dursley pounding on my door to get Harry some help,” Mrs Figg replied with a sigh. 

Ginny stared at her. “Dudley actually helped Harry in front of his friends?” she exclaimed incredulously.

“Yes, he did. He even went in search of Harry’s wand and brought it back to him.”

“That’s amazing,” Ginny murmured, shaking her head in disbelief.

Mrs Figg cleared her throat. “There’s another thing you need to understand about this war, Ginny,” she said gravely. “Lord Voldemort is becoming stronger by the day whereas the Order is weakening rapidly. Five of our key members have been lost in the last few weeks, and Professor Dumbledore is scrambling to keep us together. It’s not an easy job with the increased Death Eater activity. We watchers and the Auror squads are stretched to the breaking point. Harry was lucky I was at home last Sunday. If things hadn’t dissipated as they did when I went to Harry’s rescue, both of us might have been sent to hospital.”

“It’s become that bad?” Ginny murmured in alarm as the kettle whistled.

“Yes, child, I’m afraid it has,” Mrs Figg said.

“I had no idea...” Ginny said, her shoulders sagging slightly. She concentrated on warming the tea pot with a little hot water as she digested this new information. “Is there anything Ron and I can do?” she finally asked.

Mrs Figg smiled at her. “You’re doing it already. You’re keeping Harry’s spirits up and helping him see that he’s made the right choices, even if they are difficult,” she said.

Ginny looked at her doubtfully. “If you say so,” she said resignedly. She glanced at the teapot in her hands. “I’d better finish this before Harry and Ron wonder what’s become of me.” She carefully measured out the tea leaves and filled the pot with hot water. When the tea was ready, the two women went back into the living room.

Ron and Harry were talking Quidditch as if nothing had happened and Ginny hadn’t been gone from the room an unusually long time. Ron was catching Harry up on the latest goings-on by the Chudley Canons. He gestured wildly, imitating the Keeper’s latest spectacular save, a move that involved hanging upside-down from his broom by his knees. Ginny sat back down on her end of the couch and held out plates to catch the slices of cake. She genuinely hoped Ron would not try that the next time they went up to practice.

The gateau was delicious, but Ginny hardly tasted it. She was greatly disturbed by the news of the Order and felt stung by Harry’s earlier slighting. _There’s something he’s not telling me, she thought, and it has to do with Dumbledore and possibly Voldemort. I don’t know what it is, but I really wish Harry would trust me. _

She tried in vain to connect with Harry again, but he refused. He wouldn’t even make eye contact with her. Ginny at last gave up, feeling as though icy tendrils were squeezing her heart. She hoped Harry wasn’t so ashamed of what had happened on Sunday that he was refusing to talk about it more than he had; it seemed to her that he had conducted himself admirably.

The conversation switched to news of Hermione and Ron reminded everyone that she would be at the Burrow in less than three weeks, just in time to go with Ron and Ginny to visit Neville and Harry at Hogwarts. Harry seemed pleased that he would have visitors. “This summer isn’t turning out as bad as I thought it would,” he remarked.

The three smiled at the thought and as soon as they were done with their gateau, they took their dishes into the kitchen. In no time the clean cups and plates were stacked neatly on the counter. Harry proudly reached over his head to put them away with everyone looking on. I told you I was much better, he crowed as the last plate slid into place.

Good for you, Ginny replied, failing to match his enthusiasm as he climbed off the step stool. 

Harry looked at her with a puzzled expression on his face. _You’re not happy about my progress? _

Ginny sighed. _I’m pleased that you’re doing so well, Harry, she admitted. But I just can’t help thinking that you’re keeping something important from me, something that as one of Voldemort’s victims I have a right to know. _

Harry’s gaze left hers and focused on a spot behind Ginny’s head. _I wish I could tell you, but Professor Dumbledore wanted as few people as possible to be privy to certain information and gave me permission to tell only Ron and Hermione._

_Why not me?_

_I’ve told you that already, Ginny. I need you here to come back to. I need you to be safe._

_But I don’t want to be stuck safely at home or at Hogwarts, Harry. I want to help you, I want to FIGHT! I’m Voldemort’s victim just as much as you are!_

_I know that, but your parents want you to be safe as much as I do. They wouldn’t think very highly of me if something happened to their only daughter while you were with me. I have to respect their wishes. _Harry stepped forward and gathered her into his arms.

Ginny hugged him back, aware that both her brother and Mrs Figg were looking at them. _I don’t like it, but I do understand, _ she told him with a sudden mischievous smile. _And I don’t think your aunt and uncle would like it if something happened to me and Mum sent you a Howler. _

Harry threw his head back and let out a Sirius-like bark of laughter, causing Mrs Figg to smile. _No, I don’t think they would. _ He grew serious as he stepped back and fumbled with something under his shirt. “Will you keep this for me?” he asked, holding out his phoenix pendent. “I won’t be in one place for very long this summer and I won’t be able to wear it when I’m with Dumbledore.” His fingers covered hers as he dropped it gently into her hand. “I really do want it back.”

Ginny accepted the necklace and hung it around her own neck. “I’ll keep it safe, I promise,” she said capturing his eyes with hers. _I love you, Harry. _

Harry inhaled sharply, the green of his eyes intensifying at her words. _I love you, too, Ginny. Thank you. _ He turned to Mrs Figg. “Thank you for having me over,” he said as Ron and Ginny murmured their appreciation as well.

“It was lovely to have young people in this house today,” Mrs Figg told them, pressing large slices of treacle tart and chocolate gateau into their hands at the door. “To keep your strength up,” she added when the two boys exchanged grins.

Harry gave Mrs Figg a quick hug and then shook hands with Ron. Turning to Ginny he kissed her discreetly on the cheek murmuring, “I’ll see you soon,” and hurried away before she could respond.

With a heavy heart Ginny walked to the fire place and threw in a pinch of Floo powder. “See you at home,” she told Ron. She stepped into the green flames shouting, “The Burrow,” leaving him to thank their hostess and juggle the plates of food in the Floo.

Mrs Weasley met her at the hearth. “How was your tea with Harry?” she asked as Ginny came shooting out.

She paused long enough to say, “We had a good time and I can hardly wait until we see him again at Hogwarts in a couple of weeks,” before turning and ascending the stairs to her room. She quietly shut the door and leaned against it for a moment. The quiet room calmed her as she crossed the floor to her bed and sat down, staring at her poster of the Weird Sisters. 

A few minutes later, her mother knocked and opened the door. “I know something is bothering you, Ginny,” she said in her no-nonsense manner. “You’ve never said so little after a visit with Harry.”

Ginny gave her mother a small smile and held up Harry’s necklace. “Harry gave back the necklace I gave him last term because he’s afraid it will lead Voldemort to us. I’m just feeling a little left out of his plans at the moment, Mum. I’ll be all right in a few minutes.”

“I can understand,” Mrs Weasley said, coming to sit next to Ginny. “I felt the same way when Fabian and Gideon went out on their first Order missions and left me at home with your grandparents.”

Ginny’s eyes widened at this new piece of information about her uncles. “Did they come back?” she asked, needing something to hope for.

Mrs Weasley smiled. “They did for over three years, three years of worry on my part until that last mission when everything I’d been dreading came to fruition and the Death Eaters got the best of them,” she said, groping in her pocket for her handkerchief. She dabbed at her eyes before saying, “You must have faith that whatever Harry is involved in, he will come back to you if for no other reason than to claim his necklace. Keep it safe for him, Ginny, and let its presence comfort you.”

Ginny sighed and hugged her mum. “I will, Mum, I will.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, I have three people to thank who have helped to get this chapter ready for archiving. First, to GhostWriter who patiently goes through each and every first draft I send him and gives me his opinion and suggestions for improving what I’ve written. I can always count on his draft to be covered in red and witty remarks that, most of the time, make me smile. Second, there’s Lady Narcissa who told me my original version of this chapter contained a very immature Ginny who sounded like a whiny little kid! Thank you for making me rewrite large portions of her part, because the result is a Ginny who sounds more like the young witch I from New Year, New Hope. Finally, there is Aggiebell, my other beta, whose witty comments and suggestions for italicizing certain words for emphasis helps me to give meaning to what my characters say.
> 
> Chapter 5: Leaving the Dursleys is nearly ready to go to beta and hopefully will be out in a couple of weeks.


	5. Chapter 5

Harry’s trunk had been packed for two days. It stood in its usual place at the foot of his bed with Hedwig’s cage on top. Hedwig herself sat placidly on her perch, her head tucked under one wing. Despite her relaxed position, Harry knew that she wasn't asleep because he could see her peering at him with one golden brown eye. She seemed to be as eager as her owner for the arrival of the headmaster. 

Fawkes had appeared early on Thursday morning, nearly two weeks after Harry had arrived at Privet Drive, with Professor Dumbledore’s letter telling Harry when to be ready to leave for Hogwarts. It was a testimony of how eager he was to leave the Dursleys’ that Harry had immediately begun gathering his possessions and organizing his room. 

He now stood in the doorway scanning the bare walls and the open door to his empty wardrobe to make certain he had not missed anything. To him, the room held no sentiment except a fondness he felt for the cracks in the plaster ceiling over his bed. He had stripped the worn, thin mattress, neatly folding the sheets and stacking them at the foot of the bed. He had emptied every drawer in his dresser and desk, checking and rechecking that nothing remained to remind his relatives of his presence in the room. Finally, he had squirmed underneath the bed, pried up the loose floor board and fished inside his hiding place, withdrawing the remnants of an old birthday cake, several broken quills, and a dried-up bottle of ink. The only reminder of his stay this year was his exercise pole; it refused to come unstuck from the floor and Harry thought that Professor Dumbledore might give him permission to cancel the sticking spell once he arrived.

He was about to search his desk one more time when he heard Aunt Petunia shut the door to the spare bedroom where the trap door to the attic was located. He had seen her go in there ten minutes earlier and had wondered vaguely why when she had dusted and vacuumed that room just yesterday. Turning towards the sound, he was surprised to see her carrying an old cardboard box. 

She looked at him suspiciously saying, “You’ve never been this tidy before. Why did you clean up so thoroughly this year?”

“I... er... I wanted to make up for all the years I’ve left reminders of my stay here,” Harry said lamely. “You let me recuperate this year. Thank you.”

Aunt Petunia stared at him as if she didn’t quite believe him, and then said hesitantly, “Harry, I… do you have room in your trunk for this?” 

Harry eyed the box distrustfully. “What is it?” he asked as she held it out to him.

“Just some old things I want to get rid of, but thought you might want to look at before I threw them out,” she said, returning to her normal tone of voice. “If you’re not interested I’ll just throw them in the bin.”

Harry took the box. “It won’t hurt me to have a look,” he grumbled and shut the door in his aunt’s face. What could she possibly have kept for so long that she suddenly wants to get rid of? he wondered.

He placed the box on his desk, lifted the lid and stared open-mouthed at the contents. Inside were a child’s blanket and a letter, bearing Dumbledore’s handwriting, addressed to Petunia Dursley. With trembling hands, Harry removed the letter and scanned the neat lines that explained the reason for Harry’s being left on her doorstep. So this is how it all started, he mused, restoring the letter to its envelope and lifting out the blanket. His eyes drifted shut as a series of vague memories exploded inside his head. He didn’t fight them, but let them play out: most were fragments of larger memories, but one seemed to be intact. Harry bowed his head and clutched the blanket as he remembered the day his blanket was taken from him…

_He was four years old, old enough to know that taking something of Dudley’s would get him thrown into his cupboard. But Dudley had been taking his blanket all day and little Harry wanted revenge. He reached over and picked up the brightly coloured ball Dudley had been throwing at the telly whenever a commercial interrupted his enjoyment of a favourite show. The moment Harry’s hand closed over the toy Dudley let out a fearsome howl._

_“Bad boy took my ball!” he wailed, as Uncle Vernon came charging into the living room._

_“Boy! You give that back!” Uncle Vernon yelled, wrenching both the ball and Harry’s blanket away from him. “Haven’t you learned that taking things is WRONG?” He yanked little Harry to his feet and frogmarched him into the hall, dropping the ball and the blanket on the floor as he opened the door to Harry’s cupboard. He shoved Harry inside bellowing, “You take things from my son, I take things from you.” _

Harry had never seen his beloved blanket again and until this moment had believed his uncle had thrown it out with the trash. _Why did Aunt Petunia save this? _ he wondered as he smoothed the woolly softness. _Why am I so attached to it? It’s just an old blanket. _ But he knew the answer: the blanket had been his sole comfort until it had been taken away. 

Harry swallowed the lump that had formed in his throat and gently lowered the blanket back into the box. As he did so, his hand brushed against a piece of paper stuck to the side of the box. He carefully peeled it away and blinked in surprise when he realized what he was holding. The Muggle photograph of his mother smiled up at him. Lily sat on a park bench holding the leash of a Pembroke Corgi. The dog had its nose in the air and was looking at her expectantly. After a moment, Harry turned the photo over. On the back, written in his aunt’s hand were the words, “My sister, Lily. Age 17. June 1977.”

“Well, are you keeping that stuff?” his aunt asked brusquely, barging into Harry’s room.

Harry carefully laid the photo on top of the letter and put the lid back on the box before answering. “Yes. I’m keeping it,” he said, putting a possessive hand on the box. 

“Very well. The box was taking up room in the attic, so you might as well take it with you,” she said dismissively. “When did your letter say Professor Dumbledore will be here?”

Harry replied, “Half two, Aunt Petunia.”

“He’d better be on time. I have to take Dudley into town and don’t want to leave until you’re gone.”

Harry looked at his watch. “He’ll be here in ten minutes. I’ll take my things down now.”

Aunt Petunia turned on her heel and left without a word. 

Harry grabbed Hedwig’s cage and took it down to the foyer. Returning quickly to his room for his trunk, he opened it and made room for the box. He closed the lid and then stood staring at it. The only way to get the large and heavy item down the stairs without magic was to drag it. A grin suddenly split Harry’s face as he pulled it along, letting it bump noisily behind him.

“What’s all the ruckus?” Uncle Vernon demanded from the living room. He threw his paper down on the ottoman and lumbered to his feet. “I demand to know why you insist on making such a god-awful noise, boy!”

Harry smirked as he explained, “I’m leaving in a few minutes with Professor Dumbledore. Didn’t Aunt Petunia tell you?”

“Does this mean you’re coming back next year or are you gone for good?” Uncle Vernon challenged, coming into the foyer. “Because if you’re coming back next year, you’ll be paying room and board!”

Out of the corner of his eye, Harry saw the kitchen door open just a crack and knew Dudley was listening at the keyhole. “I’ll be back next year, Uncle Vernon,” he said. 

His uncle eyed him suspiciously. “I suppose you’ve left all sorts of nasty things in your room, boy. You’ve always been a slob,” he said vindictively.

“It’s a lot less cluttered than when I moved into it,” Harry shot back. “There’s only my exercise pole, which I’ll have Professor Dumbledore remove before we leave.” 

“I’ll believe it when I see it,” Uncle Vernon snapped. “When does that professor of yours get here?”

Harry opened his mouth to answer, but the doorbell cut him off. Ignoring his uncle’s glare, he strode eagerly to the door and opened it. Professor Dumbledore stood on the threshold wearing a stylish black suit and a grey Trilby, which contrasted sharply with his long white hair and beard. Harry thought his headmaster looked rather like a Jewish rabbi.

“Hello, Professor Dumbledore,” he said, stepping back to allow his headmaster to come inside. 

“Hello, Harry. Marvellous day for a walk. I see you are ready for me this year. Have you said good bye to your family?”

Harry studied Professor Dumbledore from the back as they walked into the lounge. Somehow, he had the impression that his Headmaster was very tired today. “Not yet, sir. I was wondering if I could have permission to cancel the sticking charm on the exercise post Madam Pomfrey had me using while I was here.”

“You may, Harry. Be quick about it. We are due at Arabella’s in a few minutes.”

Harry sprinted up the stairs to his bedroom. Whipping out his wand, he pointed it first at his alarm clock and then at the post, non-verbally casting two separate charms. The clock “pinged” quietly and the post immediately toppled over, shrinking to fit its carry bag. As he stuffed the post into the bag, Dudley leaned against the door jam, blocking Harry’s way out.

“That was cool,” he remarked, “but won’t you get in trouble?”

“No. Professor Dumbledore is here and he gave me permission to cancel the Sticking Charm,” Harry answered coldly, walking up to Dudley. The memory of that day in the park was still fresh in Harry’s mind. He needed to get back downstairs, but it didn’t seem as though Dudley wanted to let him pass. “Excuse me, please.”

Dudley didn’t budge. Instead, he said, “I guess this is it. You’re not coming back until next year.”

Harry raised an eyebrow. “Why should you care? You’re getting your second bedroom back,” he said tersely.

Dudley glanced over his shoulder. “Yeah, well… It’s been... helpful having a workout partner. You still look like a gust of wind could blow you away. You just might want to keep doing some of those exercises — wherever it is that you’re going.”

Harry gaped at his cousin. They hadn’t really had a proper conversation since that day in the park, yet here was Dudley acting as though he didn’t want Harry to leave. A couple of moments’ awkward silence passed, which Harry finally broke.

“You… you helped me a lot, Dudley... Thanks,” he said stiffly.

“Yeah, er… maybe I’ll find a way to, you know, keep in touch,” Dudley said quietly, again glancing over his shoulder.

“Er… sure, all right,” Harry replied, stunned.

A smile twitched at the corners of Dudley’s lips. “Might be kinda hard, though. _Normal people_ don’t keep owls about to deliver their post,” he said, rolling his eyes.

_Was Dudley making a joke? _ Harry’s mouth quirked slightly as he said, “Take them to Mrs Figg. She’ll see that I get them.”

Dudley looked satisfied as he walked across the landing and into his room. At the door, he turned. “See you around, Pot… erm, Harry. Good luck.” A moment later the door to Dudley’s room shut behind him.

Shaking his head, Harry took the stairs two at a time, gaining the foyer in time to prevent his uncle from bellowing for him. Harry addressed Dumbledore as he stuffed the carry bag into his school bag. “All done, sir. Will we be leaving soon?”

“Yes, right away. There are three things left to do. I imagine Hedwig will enjoy a flight to Hogwarts much more than being sent there magically, so let’s give her her freedom,” the headmaster said, smiling.

Harry reached for the cage door, but Professor Dumbledore stopped him. “As a precaution, we must give her a little disguise,” he said, drawing his wand. As Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia stepped back looking horrified, the headmaster flicked his wand, changing Hedwig into a Great Gray owl. She hooted indignantly and ruffled her dreary feathers as if to say, “This had better not be permanent!”

Laughing, Harry opened the front door and released her saying, “I’ll see you at Hogwarts, Hedwig.” Hedwig circled the front garden once and then flew north towards Hogwarts. Harry closed the front door and said, “I’m ready.”

“Very good. Do you have your cloak, Harry?” Dumbledore asked. “Please put it on.” Harry pulled it from his school bag. “Now, I will send these to your new quarters.” Again he flicked his wand, and Harry’s trunk and the bird cage disappeared. Finally, he turned and bowed slightly to the goggling Dursleys. “I thank you for giving Harry house room. You have done the Wizarding world a service for keeping him these many years.”

Neither Aunt Petunia nor Uncle Vernon responded as Dumbledore straightened his hat and then addressed Harry. “And now, let us start a new journey into the unknown, dangerous world.” 

At the door, Harry paused. “Bye,” he said as he slipped under his Invisibility Cloak. He pulled the door closed, wondering whether he really would hear from Dudley.

At Mrs Figg’s house, Harry and Professor Dumbledore paused briefly, listening intently. “Per Madam Pomfrey’s orders, please go to Honeydukes, Harry,” Dumbledore said, glancing out a window over Harry’s shoulder in the direction of Privet Drive. “Mr and Mrs Flume know to expect you and one of them will be on hand should you need assistance.” He held up a hand as Harry inhaled to protest that he could take care of himself. “In these perilous times it is critical that we travel in groups. One never knows when back-up will be needed. ” 

A sudden, resounding BOOM! rocked the neighbourhood. Dumbledore nodded in approval at Harry: Dumbledore’s charm on the Dursleys’ house had just failed.

“Your Aunt has found your letter, Harry, the one stating you will never be coming back?”

“Yes, Professor. I charmed my alarm clock so that only Aunt Petunia would hear it and placed the letter underneath. There was no way she could have missed it,” Harry said.

“Good. We must hurry before the Death Eaters arrive. The Order members should be at your Aunt’s house now with the only Time Turner left in existence. If your relatives cooperate, the hour Kingsley Shacklebolt is giving them will be enough for them to pack for a short journey. If not, he will have to Stun them before taking them to their safe house. 

“I will meet you downstairs next to the lemon drops.”

“Yes, sir.” With one last smile of thanks to Mrs Figg, Harry stepped into the green flames as Dumbledore Disapparated; He arrived in the Flume’s sitting room a few seconds later. Mrs Flume greeted him with a smile and a clothes brush and quickly flicked away the stray soot, after which she directed him downstairs to the shop. Professor Dumbledore smiled at Harry as he entered the shop, thanked Mrs Flume and the two departed for the short walk to Hogwarts.

The afternoon was a fine one, just the sort for a pleasant stroll, but they needed to hurry towards the safety of the Hogwarts perimeter. Even so, Harry was aware of sounds he didn’t usually hear during term; birds other than the owls, the rustle of the grass at the edge of the forest that had Harry’s head turning frequently as he searched for Death Eaters, a soft breeze that whispered amongst the trees. If they’d had the luxury of a stroll, Harry knew he would have felt at peace.

As they approached the gates, Dumbledore drew his wand and began murmuring quietly. The air around them suddenly seemed charged with electricity and Harry supposed it was the headmaster’s magic causing the change. They passed between the winged boars and Harry felt another change, as if an enormous door had gently closed behind him. He smiled up at his mentor as they slowed to a stroll.

As Professor Dumbledore stowed away his wand, Harry noticed a large ring on his left hand. It looked very old and unfashionable. He cleared his throat to gain Dumbledore’s attention.

“Professor Dumbledore, is that ring part of your Muggle attire?” he asked.

“Actually, no, Harry,” Dumbledore answered. “It is indeed a wizard’s ring. And since it is old and very valuable, I wore it today for safe-keeping.”

Puzzled by Professor Dumbledore’s answer, Harry asked, “Wouldn’t it be safer to keep it someplace like Gringotts?”

Professor Dumbledore smiled. “No, Harry, it is valuable in another way.” 

Harry’s eyebrow shot towards his fringe. “You mean to tell me that bauble is one of... them?” he asked, his voice cracking on the last word. He still hadn’t completely accepted the concept of a Horcrux, although he understood their purpose.

“It is, yes. Don’t look so alarmed, Harry. You may recall the Diary was harmless until one opened it. The same applies to the ring. It is perfectly safe, as long as it does not come into direct contact with a certain type of spell,” the headmaster remarked. “But enough of this dark subject. I imagine you are quite eager to get to your quarters and then go exploring through Mr Longbottom’s greenhouse. Oh, yes, Professor Sprout has turned an entire greenhouse over to him for his breeding projects and experimentation. You are in for a treat, Harry. Let’s get you settled in before we venture too much further into the real reason for why you are here.”

Harry nodded and tried to shrug off the sense of impending doom that had settled over him at the mention of the Horcrux.

The Entrance Hall was delightfully cool in comparison to the sunlit castle grounds. Harry paused as the front doors closed behind them, unused to seeing the two huge, shiny brass plaques that had been recently hung on either side of the doors to the Great Hall as proof that so many Hogwarts’ students had sacrificed a pleasant afternoon to defend the castle and the village of Hogsmeade just three short weeks ago.

“Go ahead and read them, Harry. I’ll send Dobby along to show you to your quarters. By the way, you may use your wand while you’re here,” Dumbledore said as he began ascending the marble staircase. He was almost at the top when a lone Great Grey owl swooped into the Entrance Hall and perched on the balustrade in front of him. Harry recognized the incognito Hedwig by the way she fluffed her feathers; only Hedwig could convey her frame of mind by rearranging her plumage. 

Dumbledore laughed heartily at the owl that seemed to be waiting expectantly for something as it did not carry a letter. 

“Professor, I think Hedwig would like to have her feathers returned to their original colour,” Harry said, unable to contain his grin. “I don’t think she’s too happy being a Great Grey Owl.”

Dumbledore smiled at her and took out his wand. “My dear Hedwig, I had no intention of leaving you looking as if you had tumbled down a chimney. Please, come closer and I will cancel the spell.” As Hedwig hopped closer, her feathers became their natural immaculate white. She pulled at one or two with her beak and, satisfied with her appearance, flew down to sit on Harry’s shoulder. He stroked her wings as he conveyed her thanks. 

“Come find me later,” he whispered to her. “You must be tired after your flight. Go have a nap while I unpack.”

Hedwig took off for the Owlery as Harry turned to study the Four Founders’ Award plaque. He smiled at the sheer number of students, listed in alphabetical order, who had participated with honour in the battle for Hogsmeade and Hogwarts. He was about to inspect the Service to the School plaque when Dobby appeared at his side with a loud crack.

“Dobby is here to help Mr Harry Potter find his rooms. I is very glad to see you,” the little elf squealed, throwing himself at Harry and hugging him around the middle.

Harry gently extracted himself after patting the elf on the shoulder. “I’m glad to see you, too, Dobby.” He paused and then asked slowly, “Did you say rooms?”

“Oh, yes, Harry Potter. Follow me. I is taking you there.” The little elf took off at a brisk pace up the marble staircase. Harry was panting slightly by the time he caught up with him on the third floor. Dobby slowed a little and led the way up a last staircase and down an unfamiliar fourth-floor corridor. He stopped when the corridor terminated at a small, circular room in the centre of which sat a statue of Beaumont Marjoribanks holding a handful of what looked like Gillyweed. Harry shuddered involuntarily as a particularly slimy memory flitted through his mind. 

“Here is your rooms, sir,” Dobby said, gesturing to a painting of two Seekers diving after a Golden Snidget. “Dobby brought Harry Potter’s trunk and bird cage up already. Just capture the Snidget and you can open the door.” He turned to leave.

Bewildered, Harry said, “Hold on. I thought I was staying in Gryffindor Tower with Neville Longbottom.”

Smiling, Dobby explained, “You is, sir. The rooms behind this painting are part of Gryffindor Tower. This is your private entrance.”

“My private entrance,” Harry repeated slowly. “Where is Neville’s, then?” 

Dobby pointed to the painting next to Harry’s. A large knobbly plant turned its appendages towards a brightly painted sun. “Right here, sir. There is an adjoining door between your suites.”

Suites? Now this I’ve got to see, Harry thought. He thanked Dobby and reached hesitantly for the Snidget in his own painting. As his fingers closed over the painted golden bird, he felt a doorknob form. He turned it and the painting swung outward. 

The wedge-shaped room behind the door was large and richly furnished in beautiful antiques. Straight ahead, a large fireplace dominated the back wall of the sitting room. He could see straight through it into the bedroom and guessed that both of the suite’s rooms were heated by the single fire. Very clever, he thought.

On either side of the fireplace was a door, one leading to his bedroom and the other hopefully to the common room upstairs. He crossed the sitting room, entered the bedroom and was happy to find his trunk in its traditional place at the foot of his bed. He grinned when he realized the furnishings duplicated the décor he was used to in his dormitory. Hedwig’s cage sat on a small table next to the window. 

There were two doors located on opposite sides of the room. The one on the left wall led to a private bathroom with a large tub that overlooked the Forbidden Forest. The other, on the right wall, was locked and Harry assumed it led to Neville’s quarters.

Harry walked over to his trunk. He fished in his pockets for his key and made quick work of his unpacking. He had just finished when he heard someone knock on the locked door. Seconds later, Neville poked his head into Harry’s room.

“Hi, Neville!” Harry exclaimed happily.

“Hello, Harry. How are you doing?” Neville asked, glancing significantly at Harry’s left shoulder.

Harry smiled at his friend. “I’m doing much better, thank you. When did you get here?”

“Last Sunday. I had a very nice week with Gran and then we took the Floo Network to Honeydukes. Madam Pomfrey and Professor Sprout have been keeping me busy all week.”

“That’s great to hear. Did you finish your article?” Harry asked, closing his trunk and locking it with a spell.

Neville beamed. “I certainly did. Healer Rodkey sent it to _The Healers’ Journal_ yesterday. I’m hoping it will be published soon. Would you like to read it? I have a copy in my safe at the greenhouse.”

Harry asked, “Will you show me your experiments, too?”

“I’d love to, Harry. I was just going back when Dobby came to tell me you were here.” The two boys exited Harry’s suite and Neville led the way through the castle and out onto the grounds. “My greenhouse is Greenhouse twelve, the one furthest from the front doors. Professor Sprout thought I’d have fewer prying eyes way back there once term begins. I think she’s right.”

Neville unlocked the door using his wand and stepped aside to let Harry pass through. At first, Harry thought the room looked like any other greenhouse he’d been in with its rows of plant tables and scores of little potted plants all in various stages of growth. Neville’s original _Mimbulus mimbletonia_ held pride of place in the middle of one of the growing tables. Then he took a second look around. 

The back of the room looked like a Muggle chemistry lab. Several cauldrons bubbled over magical fires in one corner. Next to them in a glass cupboard were rows and rows of glass tubing in different lengths and shapes, as well a shelving unit containing books and other scientific apparatuses. In front of the shelving unit Neville had set up an experiment on a large work table. Finally, on the opposite wall from the cauldrons was Neville’s neatly arranged desk, which Harry thought contrasted deeply with the disorganization of Neville’s part of their dormitory during term time.

“Neville, this is fantastic! I had no idea this was here.”

“Neither did I until Professor Sprout began giving me those private lessons Professor Dumbledore arranged. I’m really glad you finally have the time to come see it,” Neville remarked. He walked over to his desk, kneeling in front of it to open a cupboard with his wand. “Here is a copy of the article,” he said, handing it to Harry.

Harry quickly scanned the neatly written manuscript, noting how precisely scientific it was. Since Neville was looking at him expectantly, he sat in the desk chair and leafed through until he found the Appendix that followed Ginny’s daily progress. Much of the language was medicinal in nature and completely foreign to Harry. He quickly handed the manuscript back to Neville saying, “This is fantastic, or at least the part I understand! Can you also show me what you’re working on?”

For the next half hour, Neville strolled around the greenhouse pointing to various plants and explaining what he was doing with them. As they walked, Harry felt a surge of pride for his friend’s work. _Ginny was right, _ he thought as he listened to Neville’s confident tone. _Neville has indeed found his calling. _

Finally, they had circled the entire greenhouse. Neville looked pointedly at Harry and said, “I know you told me you were doing better, Harry, but I have a feeling that’s not all there is to it. I had a letter from Ron the other day that said you were working out. Are you progressing as fast as you’d like?”

Harry leaned against one of the growing tables and stared up at the glass roof of the greenhouse. Finally, he said honestly, “In some ways I am, but in others I’m not.”

Neville’s concern was plainly evident as he asked, “In what ways, Harry?”

“My shoulder feels completely normal now, thanks to the exercises my cousin Dudley made me do over and above what Madam Pomfrey prescribed.” He stopped, scowling, trying to find the right words. “The rest of me seems... er... sluggish. I run out of breath easily and that... that’s what worries me.”

“Have you been running or swimming lately?” Neville asked.

Harry shook his head, feeling his ears turn red. “Madam Pomfrey wanted me to wait to do any running until she had a chance to check me over,” he said quietly, feeling his ears begin to heat up. “If you really need to know, I haven’t been in the water since the Triwizard Tournament–no place to swim until the P-T room was built–and I don’t swim all that well anyway.” He cleared his throat. “The Dursleys gave me a week’s worth of swim lessons only because they had to. I think they hoped that I’d drown someday.”

Neville was quiet for a time. He then offered, “If you’d like, we could meet at the P-T Room pool and we could swim together. Gran made me learn when I was little so she wouldn’t have to worry about me so much when we went to the seaside.” The self-deprecating smile Harry had seen many times in the past crept onto his face as he said, “If I learned, you can improve, too. It just takes practice.”

Harry finally looked at Neville, his embarrassment ebbing. “Thanks, mate. Let’s start tomorrow morning.”

The clock on Neville’s desk chimed half five. Harry raised an eyebrow as Neville said, smiling sheepishly, “Dinner in thirty minutes. I’ve missed it twice this week and thought maybe setting an alarm would remind me I need to eat.” 

Harry asked, “Shall we go, then?”

Neville was already half-way to the door. He stopped to caress his Mimbulus mimbletonia and then again led the way back up to the castle. The boys dined with Professors Dumbledore, McGonagall, and Sprout and Madam Pomfrey that evening. Time passed quickly and before he knew it, Harry was back in his rooms, contentedly snuggled under the covers of his bed. For now, he was home.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you have enjoyed this first chapter. I realize that Dudley seems a bit out of character here, but I wanted to give him the benefit of the two years he has had to ponder what the Dementors made him see and decide for himself whether his parents’ approach to Harry is the best way to deal with him. Therefore, I had him start by reaching out and finding some sort of common ground. Harry’s injuries from the battle in _New Year, New Hope_ are the easiest for Dudley to understand and make a good place to start. His prejudices against Harry run unfortunately deep and he remains the same shallow hulk of a boy his parents have fostered. 
> 
> This story would not have been made possible without the ideas, suggestions and prodding of several people. First, I want to thank my pre-beta GhostWriter who originally prodded me into writing this sequel and who has been invaluable in helping me with Dudley’s characterization. The nastier characters of the HP universe have always given me trouble and I appreciate GhostWriter’s helpful suggestions for keeping Dudley in character. Second, I thank Aggiebell for her quick beta on this chapter so that the story could be posted prior to _Deathly Hallows_ coming out. Finally, I hope that you will find the time to leave me a review or two to let me know what you think of this chapter.


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